


Something Like Gravity

by Prince_of_Elsinore



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Brother/Brother Incest, Brothers, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Incest, M/M, Past Underage, Sibling Incest, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_of_Elsinore/pseuds/Prince_of_Elsinore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago Ludwig's world fell apart. When his brother suddenly decides to come home for Christmas and start making amends, Ludwig isn't so sure he's ready to forgive.  Human AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Germancest Secret Santa 2013 on Tumblr.

Ludwig pulled up in the driveway of the familiar two-story house. Same old gray vinyl siding, same old broken basketball hoop stuck between the garage doors. The garden beds were full of brown leaves and dead flower stalks—there hadn’t yet been enough snow to cover them. Ludwig thought the wreath and garland on the door and the Christmas tree in the bay window did little to cheer up the dreary sight. Maybe that was just due to the dismal weather though.

He cut the engine and got out of his car, a feeling of trepidation building in his gut. With the garage doors closed he couldn’t see whose cars were already there.

A moment later the front door opened with an anemic tinkling of jingle bells from the wreath, and out bustled his mother, beaming with arms outstretched. She was followed by his father, his normally staid face graced with a smile. Ludwig noted with chagrin that they were both already decked out in his mother’s ghastly Christmas sweaters.

“Ludwig, my darling son, come here,” exclaimed his mother, drawing him into an embrace of surprising strength for one her size.

“Hi, Mom,” said Ludwig, squeezing back.

His father gave him a more reserved one-armed hug with a “Good to see you, son.”

“Good to be home,” Ludwig said lightly. He attempted a smile, gazing over his father’s shoulder at the house.

Then another figure appeared in the open doorway, hands shoved into pockets, looking down at the concrete porch.

Ludwig’s heart dropped into his stomach.

He almost didn’t hear his father asking how many bags he had. “Just… uh, two. Just two bags. I got it.”

“Alright dear, your old room’s all set up for you,” chimed his mother.

He grabbed his suitcase from the trunk, slung his computer bag over his shoulder, and trudged after his parents up the walkway to the porch. His throat felt tight.

Then he was at the door. And that figure was still there, blocking his way. Ludwig stared at the man’s socked feet.

There was a split second of hesitation from both of them, in which they scrambled for words. What should your first words be to a person you haven’t spoken to in five years?

And then, softly, strained: “Hey, Ludwig.”

Ludwig glanced up, met guarded, violet eyes just briefly, before looking past him down the hallway to where his mother and father were in the breakfast nook.

“Gilbert,” he said with a curt nod, and brushed past his brother into the entryway.

He could feel eyes on him as he toed off his shoes at the foot of the stairs.

“Need help with your bags?” asked Gilbert behind him, still with that odd strain in his voice. Ludwig thought it quite uncharacteristic for his brother, but then, perhaps he didn’t know him well enough to tell what was characteristic any more.

“No, I got it, thanks,” he said, carefully maintaining the same unconcerned tone of voice. Without sparing a glance at Gilbert, he lugged his bags up the stairs and down the hall to his childhood bedroom.

He flicked on the light and looked around. It was changed, and yet it wasn’t. His bookshelf had long since been cleared of his own books—they were either in the basement or in his new apartment—and replaced with overflow from his parents’ collection. He knew if he opened the drawers there would be old clothes of his mother’s, two sizes too big from before she’d lost weight. He didn’t know why she didn’t just get rid of them. His extra desk in the corner had been converted into his mother’s craft area—probably looking quite a bit tidier than usual at the moment. But on the walls still hung some of his old posters, relics of a time when he’d loved baseball and North American wildlife. Nothing about the room related to his life now.

_What am I doing here?_

He tried not to think about the young man downstairs with the violet eyes and the white hair and the socked feet. But he couldn’t help it. His stomach was all tied in knots, but it had been so surprisingly easy just to brush him off, just to act like he didn’t care. There were a million things he could have said to Gilbert, things he’d wanted to say for so many years. But instead he’d pretended there was nothing, that he felt nothing.

It almost didn’t take pretending. After all, there was nothing between them now. Absolutely nothing. No letters, no phone calls, no pleasantries or Christmas gifts for years. Ludwig felt strangely empty thinking about it. But maybe that was just his “lack of capacity for emotion,” as his last brief girlfriend had put it.

“Ludwig?” His mother’s voice wafted up the stairs. “We were just about to sit down to lunch—come on down when you’re ready sweetie!”

“Alright, be right there,” he called back.

He sighed and gave one last glance around the room. He could leave the attempt to settle into the oddly foreign space for later. He went back downstairs and into the breakfast nook, where the family took most of their meals. Now that his parents lived alone, they almost never used the formal dining room.

The table was already set and laid out with cold cuts and other sandwich makings. Ludwig took the seat his mother indicated. It was right across from Gilbert. Of course. That was how they had sat when they all lived there. But it had been so long since the four of them had been at a table together…

His father cleared his throat. “Well, I’d just like to say,” he began in his gruff voice, “how nice it is to have you boys home at the same time. I almost can’t remember the last Christmas we were all together, and it’s—it means a lot that you boy found the time to make this possible.” He raised his beer with the almost comically serious expression he always wore when making formal statements. “So, here’s to family, and being together on Christmas.”

His mother raised her glass and Ludwig was caught off guard to hear tears in her voice as she echoed, “To family.”

Hastily he raised his own beer and muttered the toast as he clinked his bottle with his parents, then hurriedly with Gilbert—no eye contact—before taking a sip.

“That was a nice toast Dad,” said Gilbert with a little smile.

Ludwig glanced up to glare suspiciously at him. A nice toast to family being together? What was Gilbert playing at?

But no, maybe he was reading into things too much. Maybe Gilbert was just trying to be nice to their father.

“Thank you, Gilbert,” said their father, still with the same ill-suited stiff formality.

Lunch was a painfully stilted affair for Ludwig. His mother was too happy to notice, constantly on the verge of tears as she seemed to be. She kept looking admiringly between her sons. Ludwig wished she would stop.

Gilbert was able to keep up conversation better than Ludwig. Apparently he’d become considerably more adept at speaking to older adults in the past few years. He regaled his parents (he didn’t seem to be speaking to Ludwig, really) with stories of his life in the big city, his new bartending gig in some swanky joint down town, and the news of some gallery shows he’d been invited to participate in.

It was more difficult for Ludwig to talk about what he was doing. When asked, he responded that his research was going fine, he was meeting his deadlines, he had lined up the grants he needed—but he knew telling his parents about his PhD research in detail would only bore and confuse them. They didn’t care much about the role of the Constitution of St. Paul’s Church in paving the way to German national unity.

But finally, with minimal contributions to the conversation from Ludwig, lunch was over. He cleared his dishes and slipped quietly upstairs to unpack his bags.

He toiled over rearranging sweaters in drawers and button-downs on their hangers for as long as possible, but after an hour there was simply nothing left to do. His mother called up to ask what he was up to, and Ludwig was reminded why he usually avoided coming home at all costs. He responded he was working, and his mother asked pointedly if he couldn’t bring his laptop downstairs at least. With a sigh, Ludwig complied.

Gilbert was sitting in the family room watching TV, so Ludwig retreated to the living room, only to end up staring blankly at word documents full of his notes.

He supposed it was inevitable, that this holiday would come. The one where he and his brother were both home for once. His parents had been pushing for it for so long, but he had hoped that somehow he could keep putting it off forever. He did Christmases at the parents’; Gilbert did Thanksgivings. He usually went to visit his girlfriend-of-five-years’ family for Christmas. When Ludwig had heard Gilbert would be joining them this year, he’d figured at least they could get it over with; surely they wouldn’t have to do another holiday together for a few more years now. He could just grin and bear it.

But now that he was here, he had begun to doubt that. He wasn’t sure he could make it for ten days in the same house as his brother.

He managed to avoid Gilbert until dinnertime, though. He ate in relative silence again, listening to his mother fill them in on the gossip of the town—as if he cared who Mrs. Hudson’s daughter was engaged to or who was running for the school board this year.

“Why don’t we pick out a board game?” suggested his father when dinner was finished. “Been a while since we had a family game night.”

“Yeah, that sounds great!” agreed Gilbert quickly.

Ludwig wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and shut himself in his room.

“Oh hon, you know I’d love to, but I’ve got to finish the gingerbread cookies tonight!” said his mother. She had a schedule when it came to Christmas-related activities, and she stuck to it.

“I’ll help you, Mom,” offered Ludwig, eager to escape the board game.

His mother beamed. “Oh would you? What a dear. Thank you Ludwig.”

Ludwig smiled. He could feel Gilbert’s eyes on him again. His brother knew he was avoiding him. Well, what did he expect.

“Well,” said Gilbert with false cheer. “Maybe we should pick a movie instead if these two bores are gonna hide in the kitchen, huh Dad?”

“Who’s calling me a bore?” challenged their mother indignantly. “Just you remember how much you love my gingerbread young man.”

Gilbert grinned. “Sorry Mom, I was referring more to Lud here.”

Ludwig stiffened. “Right. Well, this bore is going to start by doing the dishes while you go pick your movie,” he snapped.

Ludwig could feel the tension in the room rise as all eyes shifted to him. Perhaps that had been a little too harsh. He quickly cleared his plate and went to the kitchen.

He was hiding, wasn’t he. Oh well, if that’s what it took to make it through, it’s what he would do.

He heard his mother enter behind him and place a stack of dishes next to him on the counter. Ludwig turned on the sink and started scrubbing. 

“It’s so nice of you to help, Ludwig,” said his mother, an irritatingly careful tone to her voice. She was treating him like he was some delicate piece of crystal from his great-grandmother’s dining set, the one they used for Christmas dinner, just because of one slightly terse comment.

His mother cleared her throat. Ludwig tensed. He never liked what came after his mother cleared her throat.

“Ludwig… Now, I know that it’s been a while since we’ve all been together, and I know you and your brother… don’t always see eye to eye on things.”

Oh God, she wasn’t going to try to talk about _this_ was she?

“But… don’t you think you could try to get along? Just this once? It’s only for a little while, and it really is so special to have you both here…”

The carefully restrained note of desperation in her voice almost made Ludwig feel bad that he wasn’t trying harder. But only almost. He knew it must hurt his mother to see her sons like this, but she had no idea. She didn’t know how deep the divide between them ran.

Ludwig breathed in deeply through his nose. “I’ll try,” he said, but it didn’t sound as reassuring as he’d hoped.

His mother was silent for a moment, then busied herself with preparing the baking sheets. Ludwig hoped that that was the end of the conversation.

But no such luck. After a few moments his mother started again, her voice very soft. Ludwig had to strain to hear her over the running water and the sounds of the comedy Gilbert and their father had selected drifting in from the family room.

“What happened, Ludwig? You two used to be so close.” It almost sounded as though she were asking herself.

Ludwig sighed in exasperation. His mother always seemed to find the most inappropriate, inconvenient moments to bring up serious matters. Here they were, supposedly baking ginger bread together, and she expected him to give honest answers about his brother now, of all times?

He set a pan down in the drying rack with a harsh _clunk_. “Mom, I really don’t want to talk about this now—”

“Then when?” The sudden sharpness of her tone startled him. “It’s never a good time for you, Ludwig. I’ve tried asking you before and you’ve never given me an answer. What is it Ludwig, why won’t you just—talk to me? I’m your mother,” she pleaded, and Ludwig could see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. They pulled on his heartstrings despite himself. God, why did his mother have to be so inconveniently emotional? It made guilt-tripping him far too easy.

Ludwig sighed, this time feeling genuinely weary. “I don’t… It’s not easy to explain, that’s all,” he said at last. At least that wasn’t a complete lie. “We just…” He paused, struggling for the right words. How to tell his mother, how to give her a satisfactory answer, without giving it all away? He could never tell her the truth. Not the whole truth.

He pursed his lips. “I don’t know. A while back, we… we got into an argument. It was just, something stupid. But I guess, we never really patched it up properly. And then, time went on, and… it was just easier not to talk at all. We’re just… different people.” He scrubbed fingerprints off a wine glass dejectedly. Talking about it wasn’t making him feel any better.

After a moment, his mother piped up, “Well, it’s never too late to make amends, is it? And isn’t that what the holiday season is about, after all? Love and forgiveness, looking ahead to a new year and a fresh start?”

Ludwig groaned inwardly. He should have known his mother would turn this into some sort of sentimental mush. “I don’t think it’s that simple, Mom.”

“Well, what were you arguing about in the first place?”

Ludwig paused a bit too long, rinsing the same plate several times over. “I don’t remember.”

His mother sighed and turned back to her batch of batter. “Well I just don’t understand it, I really don’t. Why wouldn’t you want to make up with your brother? It would make all our lives that much easier, I can tell you.”

Ludwig had to clamp down on his temper. His mother had no right to make this about herself, and about Dad. It was between him and his brother. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m missing out on much. I’m fine with the way things are.”

“Oh, how can you say such a cruel thing?” His mother spun around, brandishing a spatula for emphasis. “How can you—you used to follow after that boy more closely than his own shadow! You were thick as thieves you two—and I thought—I always thought, how wonderful, to have two children who love each other that much, who will be lifelong friends, because you know I—” Ludwig winced as he heard his mother’s voice crack—“I never had that with my sister.” She lowered her voice. “I didn’t want you two to end up like me and her. And now—for God’s sake, you’re worse! At least I still call your aunt on holidays! When’s the last time you had a civil conversation with your brother?” she challenged.

Ludwig had stopped washing. He stood, clutching a plate in his two soapy hands. “I’m sorry Mom,” he grit out. “I guess I just care about different things than you.” He set the plate down with shaky hands. “I’ll finish the dishes later,” he said, fighting to keep control of his voice. “I’m going for a walk, okay?”

He rinsed his hands, wiped them on his jeans, and left the kitchen without looking at his mother.

He heard a choked, “Dress warmly! It’s below freezing out there…” behind him as he went.

He threw on his coat and set off out the door, down the drive, and up the sidewalk, letting his feet lead him. The cold air stung his cheeks and he wished he’d listened to his mother’s advice and brought a scarf or something.

He was already to the corner when he heard the footsteps hurrying behind him.

“Ludwig, wait up!”

Ludwig hunched lower into his coat, boiling inside. Why had he followed him?

Ludwig didn’t wait up. But he knew Gilbert would catch him.

Soon his brother was panting puffs of ice crystals beside him. “Here, thought you might want this,” he huffed, holding out an old knit hat. One of the ones their mother had made for them when they were little. She’d made them large and stretchy though, so they still fit.

Ludwig glared at the hat. “Thanks,” he grumbled, and snatched it up before cramming it on his head and tugging it down over his nearly numb ears.

They walked a few more paces. Ludwig expected Gilbert to say something, but he stayed irritatingly silent. So Ludwig said pointedly, “I don’t recall inviting you to join me on this walk.”

“I wasn’t aware it was an invitation-only event,” responded Gilbert casually.

Ludwig halted. “Gilbert, take a hint. I wanted to be alone, okay?”

Gilbert turned to him. “Is this what it’s going to be like?” he sighed. “This whole goddamned holiday? Look, I’m not exactly excited to be here either, but Christ, you don’t have to act like Ebe-fuckin’-nezer Scrooge! Or you know—you don’t have to play nice with me, I get it. But you don’t have to go making things so difficult for Mom and Dad either! You know how much they’ve been looking forward to this!”

“Who says I’m making things difficult for them? I’m not the one who decided to drop in for Christmas out of nowhere!”

“Out of nowhere? What the fuck Lud—so I’m not allowed to come to my own parent’s house for Christmas?”

“No, you’re not!” Ludwig felt like a child throwing a tantrum, but he didn’t particularly care. “We had a system, a system that worked! You do Thanksgiving with them, I do Christmas. You’ve got your—your _girlfriend_ for that,” he spat.

Gilbert clenched his teeth, carefully composing himself. “I saw Mom’s face back there, Ludwig. What did you say to her?”

Ludwig glared. “None of your business.”

His brother snapped. “Like Hell it’s my fucking business! She’s my mother too!”

His words echoed off the darkened houses lining the street.

They stood staring at each other. The cold air chilled Ludwig’s lungs with every heaving breath.

“She wanted to know why we don’t talk anymore. Okay?” Ludwig spun on his heel and kept walking.

“And what did you tell her?” insisted Gilbert, jogging to catch up.

Ludwig snorted. “Not the truth, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m not stupid,” he muttered.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I figured you weren’t gonna say ‘Sorry Mom, my brother and I were actually fucking for four years but then we broke up—”

Ludwig stopped so suddenly that Gilbert nearly bumped into him. He turned to his brother and leaned in very close, gritting his teeth. “We’re not going to talk about this, okay?” His voice was low, dangerous. “That’s how we’re going to get through this holiday. We’re not going to talk about it. We’re not going to even think about it. That’s over. It’s done. Forget it.”

Gilbert lowered his eyes to the salted pavement beneath their feet and swallowed. He waited a moment until Ludwig turned back away, satisfied his point had been made, before venturing, “So, what? Are we ever going to talk about it? Are we supposed to just pretend it never happened?” His voice was hoarse with emotion and the cold.

“Isn’t that what you fucking wanted?” snarled Ludwig over his shoulder. His icy blue eyes pinned Gilbert to the spot. “Don’t forget you’re the one who ended it,” he added softly, then started walking away.

Gilbert stood frozen, watching his brother’s retreating back. When he was already to the next driveway Gilbert found his voice. “Where are you going?” he called out.

Ludwig shrugged without turning. “Not like I’m going to get lost.”

Gilbert watched his brother all the way down the block, until he disappeared around the corner. Never once did he look back.

Slowly, Gilbert forced his legs to move again, and trudged slowly back towards home.

…

“Martha, I’m getting too old for this. I told you last year was the last time I was doing that—”

“Oh Georg, stop complaining, it would do you some good to get off that lazy butt of yours and do something active for once. Besides, Christmas isn’t Christmas without the lights on the roof and the trees! Think how cheery they’ll look out the window all through the long winter. A couple hours’ effort, a couple months’ reward!”

Ludwig sighed and looked up from the newspaper he was scanning over a cup of coffee to where his parents were arguing in the family room.

“Mom, you know I could do the lights this year. I’ve helped Dad with it before, I’m sure I can manage it on my own.”

His dad cast him a grateful glance. His mother pursed her lips. “Well… alright. Why don’t you get Gilbert to help you though, I hate to have you out there on that ladder alone.”

“Oh, so you’re worried about a young spry thing like him, but not old me and my arthritic joints?” inquired his father indignantly.

“Oh hush, they’re not arthritic.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Gilbert?” she called.

Ludwig winced. He had to wonder, since their discussion in the kitchen the previous day, if his mother had ulterior motives for making him and Gilbert work together.

Gilbert’s socked feet padded down the hallway and into the breakfast nook. Ludwig didn’t look up.

“What’s up, Mom?”

“Gilbert will you be a darling and help your brother with the outside lights? Along the gutter and the trees—Ludwig will show you, he’s helped Dad out before. Your father complains he’s getting too old for the job.”

“Oh… yeah, sure,” said Gilbert lightly. “I’ll get my shoes on.”

Ludwig grimaced and set down his mug. “The lights are still in the garage attic?” he asked his father.

“Actually the boxes are in the garage, I got them down a couple days ago.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Ludwig rose reluctantly to get his shoes and coat. He wouldn’t have minded helping at all if Gilbert weren’t involved. It could have been a nice excuse to stay out of the house and away from prying questions for a while, actually. So much for that.

Once they were properly dressed, Ludwig and Gilbert located the boxes with the lights and busied themselves with separating out the different strands.

“You take that end and walk that way,” commanded Ludwig stiffly, “and I’ll unroll it from—no you can’t do that, you have to watch and make sure they don’t cross—”

“Well you said walk that way!”

“That’s not an excuse to stop paying attention! Here, give me that—” He snatched the string of lights from Gilbert’s grip and quickly undid the tangle Gilbert had created.

Gilbert held up his hands defensively. “Well don’t blame me for taking your unclear orders literally…” he muttered under his breath.

Ludwig ignored him. He could tell this was going to be a long process.

Finally they had the ladder set up against the roof and got a system going, with Gilbert feeding the strand up to Ludwig, and Ludwig fixing it in place along the gutter.

They were both silent for a long while.

Then Gilbert spoke up. “Too bad there’s no snow, huh. The lights always looked better in the snow.” He rubbed his dripping nose to warm it up.

Ludwig kept his focus on the task before him. “Yeah, well…” he started distractedly, “you know there’s always been more snow on Thanksgiving than Christmas here.”

“Yeah.” Gilbert fell silent again, before resuming with, “You know, I do miss Christmases at home. The lights. Mom’s gingerbread. It’s kinda nice to be back, after all this time.”

Ludwig frowned. “Oh? You don’t get all that at Liz’s place?” he couldn’t help asking. He also couldn’t help the bitter tone in his voice. Dammit why couldn’t he be a better actor. God forbid he sound like he cared.

Gilbert didn’t answer for a moment. Then, casually, “Well, her mom’s not as into baking, and they don’t do decorating like this. They’re into white lights. But I’ll always be a colored lights kinda boy. You know, once you go for colored, there’s no going back, as Mom always said.”

Ludwig wasn’t really listening, and merely grunted.

“…Oh my God that was so not supposed to be a reference to Mom and black cocks,” said Gilbert a moment later.

“ _What?!_ ” Ludwig had to grab the edge of the roof for support as he fought the urge to spin around on the ladder.

Gilbert, to his credit, looked mortified. “Sorry, just thought… you know, I should clarify... Um, here,” he muttered, giving Ludwig more slack on the line of lights.

Ludwig stared at his brother, practically sputtering for a second. Finally he turned back to the gutter. “Jesus Christ… Just… don’t.”

“Don’t what? I was just saying… you know, what I was thinking.”

“That. Don’t that. Don’t say what you’re thinking, please, for the love of God.” Ludwig attempted to take hold of the strand and continue fixing it in place.

“Oh come on, it’s not like it’s _that_ bad. You think Mom didn’t have a sex life before she met Dad? Who knows what—”

“ _Gilbert!_ ” Ludwig barked. Then, fearing his mother might hear and stick her head out the door, he hissed, “Just shut up and drop it, okay?”

Gilbert shrugged and muttered something unintelligible, but thankfully let it go.

As they were getting to the edge of the roof he spoke up again, however. “So, you still seeing… uh, whatsit, started with ‘C’, I swear…”

Ludwig pursed his lips. Why the hell did Gilbert want to talk about his string of failed relationships. Probably to humiliate him.

“Kat?” he asked flatly.

“Yeah! Of course, it was on the tip of my tongue.”

“Starts with a ‘K’,” he deadpanned.

“Oh. Well same difference, right?”

“I was dating her two years ago.”

“…Oh. So, you broke up, I take it?”

Ludwig glared at the roof tiles. “My last girlfriend was Belle. That was after Mae, who was after Kat. So yes.”

“…Oh, right. Um, and Belle… past-tense, so that…”

“Ended.”

“Right.”

Ludwig steeled himself. He knew he shouldn’t ask, but… it was an itch he had to scratch. “Why do you care?”

“Just… making conversation, you know. It’s what people do.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not what we do, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Gilbert was silent a moment. “Well. No reason that can’t change, right?” he said quietly.

Ludwig tensed, holding the very end of the strand. He quickly set it into the small hook on the gutter and shuffled down the ladder. “Actually, there’s plenty of reason,” he said tersely without a glance at his brother. “Come on, bring the ladder around back for the trees. I’ll get the lights.”

…

“Oh don’t forget the bittersweet chocolate! And the tapioca.”

“Yes Mom, it’s all on the list,” repeated Ludwig for the umpteenth time.

“Alright. Drive safe out there, there’s talk of freezing rain—and where are you going, young man?” his mother called out as Gilbert appeared from the hallway, pulling on his coat.

Gilbert looked up with an innocent look. “Going to the store. Last-minute Christmas elf-ing.”

“Oh, well why don’t you two make a trip of it? Save some gas in the same car.” She looked between her sons expectantly.

They both gave her blank looks in return, until Gilbert cleared his throat. “Yeah, go Green and all that. You’re into that stuff, right Lud?”

Ludwig snorted. “One carpool is hardly going stop climate change—”

He was interrupted by an overly-hearty pat on the shoulder. “Hey, that’s the attitude that will put New York under water! C’mon bro.”

Ludwig couldn’t see any way out of it. And so he trudged after Gilbert into the garage.

Gilbert started towards his car, parked in the spot next to their parent’s, but Ludwig called him back.

“We’re taking my car,” he said with finality, walking straight out to the driveway where his trusty old Volkswagen Passat was parked. He could be forced to ride with Gilbert, but not to put up with his God-awful driving.

Gilbert didn’t complain as he got into the passenger’s seat. Ludwig started the engine and pulled out onto their short tree-lined street.

They drove a couple blocks in silence, save for Gilbert persistently tapping his fingers against the inside of his door. Then he spoke in a good-humored tone. “Mom seems pretty set on getting us to do stuff together, doesn’t she?”

“Does she?” Ludwig said distractedly, keeping his focus on the road. The best tactic for dealing with Gilbert seemed to be simply not giving him much attention. He’d back off eventually, bored without an enthusiastic audience.

This time it worked surprisingly quickly. Gilbert simply turned his head to look out the window without a response.

Ludwig barely had time to revel in the peace and quiet though. A few moments later his brother spoke up quietly, “You really can’t even stand to be in the same car as me, can you?” He gave a sad little laugh.

Ludwig furrowed his brow and dared a glance at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Gilbert’s head was down; he was gazing at his hands in his lap.

He cleared his throat. “It’s not a situation I would choose freely.”

This time Gilbert looked at him. “What, you hate me that much?” he asked, and for the first time there was a hint of anger, of hurt, in his voice.

Ludwig’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Jesus Christ Gilbert, I am not having this conversation now—”

“Then when?!” The words were much too loud for the confined space. “When, Ludwig? I’m not gonna sit around spending Christmas with a brother who actually fucking _hates_ me and just not do anything about it!”

Ludwig could feel the beginnings of terrible anger throbbing in his skull, long-repressed and yearning for an outlet. “Well _maybe_ you should have thought of that before deciding to drop in for a holiday you’ve been absent from for the past five years,” he gritted out, his tone and tense shoulders a warning to back off.

Gilbert snorted. “Yeah well, I’m beginning to wonder why I bothered—you know I actually thought it might be nice after all this time, that maybe you would’ve grown up and fucking moved on—”

“DON’T—” Ludwig fought hard to keep his hands from jerking the steering wheel. He lowered his voice to a fierce whisper. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ —talk to me about _growing up_ and _moving on_ —you—you have no. Idea. You—” He could hardly come up with the words. His voice was shaking dangerously.

And then he lost it. “ _You’re_ the one who fucking put me in this situation! You’re the one who got us here!” It was a miracle he managed to navigate the car onto the shoulder, he was so blinded with rage. “So don’t you _fucking_ dare to get all condescending with me! Is this a disappointment? Is this a disappointment to you? You thought you could just pack up and go and leave me in your FUCKING DUST FOR FIVE GODDAMN YEARS and when you came back everything would MAGICALLY BE OKAY WITHOUT YOU HAVING TO DO ONE—GODDAMN— _FUCKING THING ABOUT IT!?_ ” His throat was shredded by the screams. He hadn’t raised his voice to half this level in years.

But Gilbert was ready to match his volume. Ludwig had forgotten what a pair of lungs his brother had. “AND WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO, huh?! Staying away from you was the best—the _only_ —fucking thing I could do! Hasn’t it occurred to you that I might have _wanted_ to do more? That I would’ve fucking made amends long ago—but clearly that would’ve gone nowhere, judging by how you’re reacting now! God _dammit_ Ludwig, I thought if you grew up a little you’d get it! You’d understand why I had to go—why I had to stay away—it’s not like I FUCKING WANTED TO! But you’re too caught up in your own little pity-party to look past your own fucking nose! I’m not stupid, okay? I’m a lot of things but stupid is not fucking one of them! So no, I didn’t expect it to all _magically_ be better,” he spat. “But at least I’ve fucking matured enough to get the fact that if it’s ever going to get better, then we have to fucking try! And I was ready, when I came here I was ready to start trying—”

“Oh cut the self-righteous bullshit!” Ludwig snapped. “What if I’m not ready? What if I won’t _ever_ be ready? When you walked out on me that was for good, Gilbert, it wasn’t something you could fucking pick back up as it suited you. I. Will. NOT. Be your fucking plaything, and I resent that I ever let you use me as one—”

“A _plaything?_ Are you fucking ser—”

“—So if you fucking came here to kiss and make up you can put that right back where it came from and pack your fucking bags and go running back to your girlfriend like you did last time! You wanna kiss something, you can kiss my ass then go kiss her! At least _she_ would actually welcome it—”

“WE FUCKING BROKE UP, OKAY?”

Gilbert’s yell hung in the thick air of the suddenly too-silent car. They stared at each other, eyes hard, for a moment.

Gilbert licked his lips and swallowed. He continued, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “Me and Liz. We’re not together any more. I—I proposed to her, and she said she…” He faltered for a moment, then strained out, “…she’d met another guy.”

He looked back down at his hands, mouth and nose twitching. Ludwig realized he was trying not to cry.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Did you really think I would just show up for Christmas, no reason?”

Ludwig let out a huff of air.

He could feel something ugly in the back of his mind, a part of himself he was not proud of, and which made his lips curl in contempt now.

“So, what. Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” The words sounded slightly too snide, too harsh, even to Ludwig.

Gilbert looked up with a scowl. “I don’t care what you feel for me,” he said coldly. “I just thought you should know. Why I’m actually here.”

“Well, that’s a change of tune. A moment ago you were all ‘I’ve matured enough to make amends and you haven’t.’ Huh. Should have seen through that one.”

“It doesn’t mean that that’s not still true,” said Gilbert sharply.

Ludwig looked at his brother for a long moment. Long enough that Gilbert started to squirm under his gaze.

Finally Ludwig shrugged. “Why.”

“…Why what?”

“If you’re really serious about—patching things up—and this isn’t to say that I’m willing to go along—but, I want to know why.”

Gilbert looked away, out the front windshield. He shrugged. “Well. Kinda sucks. Having a brother who hates you.”

“I thought you just said you didn’t care what I feel for you,” said Ludwig frostily.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, looking at his brother. “Maybe it depends,” he finally said. “What _do_ you feel for me Ludwig? Anything other than hate?”

Ludwig grimaced and turned to the steering wheel. He started the engine again. “We should get to the store before the roads get any worse,” he said flatly.

…

Their argument had somehow brought them both to a common level of civility. For Gilbert, that meant a step down from his previous forced chumminess. He was more distant, always carefully polite. Ludwig thought that should have been an improvement, but it was so unlike his brother it was unnerving. At least Gilbert had stopped offering to help him and suggesting family activities. He seemed to have adopted Ludwig’s policy of interacting only when absolutely necessary.

Ludwig, for his part, was less outright rude to Gilbert. By no means did that constitute warming up to his brother, but he was perfectly courteous. Perhaps it was partially because, despite everything, he did feel slightly sorry for him. He was fairly certain Gilbert hadn’t told his parents about the break up.

Of course, the other, spiteful side of Ludwig liked to think smugly that it served him right. It was Karma; after all, Liz was the one Gilbert had left Ludwig for, all those years ago. Maybe there was a righteous God.

Having Gilbert around, however, brought back memories that Ludwig had tried to bury deep. It infuriated him how little his brother had changed. The whole gracious act he was pulling now was just that—an act. Beneath it, Gilbert was the same boy Ludwig had been hopelessly in love with for as long as he could remember.

Tiny things, things that probably no one else noticed, reminded him of what seemed like another lifetime. The way Gilbert carefully drained the milk from each spoonful when he was eating his cereal so he could lift the whole bowl and drink it all down at the very end. The way he would absently play with his earlobe when he was watching TV. The fact that he never hung up his coat—“What’s the point if I’m gonna put it back on later?”—and yet was inexplicably picky about the way he lined up his shoes next to the door, toes half an inch from the wall and exactly perpendicular. Countless quirks, sights, and sounds that were maddeningly familiar. His raucous laughter at even the most inane holiday specials, God even his scent—musky, detergent-y—clinging to the couch cushions where he had sat and making Ludwig choose to sequester himself in the lone armchair, a safe distance away.

He remembered what that smell once meant to him. Safety, warmth. Home. Love: a connection so deep no one else could really understand it. Even long before they had crossed the boundaries of acceptable brotherly affection.

He remembered devotion, following his brother’s lead in every childhood game, simply sitting for hours at his side to watch him play computer games, signing up for art classes just because that was what his big brother did.

He remembered the thrill. Sneaking into each other’s rooms at night just so they could talk into the early hours of morning, making up stories about brave soldiers, or speculating about the future; where they would be, whether there would be flying cars.

He had thought he and Gilbert would get married. That was when he was very little. Too little to understand that that wasn’t “the kind of relationship brothers have.”

He remembered the night before Gilbert went away to college. The first time they had kissed. Ludwig had been fifteen. He had snuck into his brother’s room, like so many times before, but now full of trepidation at what a Gilbert-less future would hold. He had felt betrayed, even though he knew Gilbert had to go.

 _Don’t you love me?_ he’d asked, clinging to his brother under the covers and fighting back tears. His world was ending.

_Of course._

_How much?_

And Gilbert had simply looked at him, and kissed him.

_That much._

It was all the promise he had needed.

The parting had been bittersweet, but Ludwig had kept the memory of that kiss like a love letter tucked away in the pocket closest to his heart. He’d realized his world wasn’t ending at all; that in fact, this was beginning of a brand new adventure.

Over the next several years he’d lived for the moments he could spend with his brother. It was the fulfillment of his innocent childhood fantasy; they were married. Promised to each other. It was perfect; it was all Ludwig could ever want.

Until Gilbert had left.

Just like that. Gone.

He had come to visit Ludwig at his university, where he was in his Junior year. He acted strange from the moment he arrived, a troubled line in his brow, giving long looks at his brother when he thought Ludwig wouldn’t notice. Ludwig had shrugged it off, though he was unnerved by how desperately Gilbert clung to him while they were making love that night.

Ludwig could still picture it all perfectly, like a silent movie reel in his head: waking up with the spot next to him cold, getting out of bed to find Gilbert’s bags gone, and the note lying on the table, only three lines long.

_Ludwig,_

_I know leaving a note is pathetically cliché. But I didn’t know how to tell you in person._  
 _I’ve met a girl. Her name is Liz, and I love her very much. I know you’ll be upset,_  
 _but try not to be. Find yourself a nice girlfriend, or boyfriend. One who deserves you._

_\--Gilbert_

Then the feeling like he’d been stabbed in the gut and plunged into ice water. Numbness, then panic, then despair, then anger that had wrapped its black tendrils around his heart and grown and lived in him for five long years.

It had taken him a long time to understand how his brother could have done such a thing, used him like that. To accept the fact that that first kiss had not been a promise, but a lie; a deception that Gilbert had played to the very end, to the last possible night. Ludwig’s white knight was toppled from his pedestal. He began to wonder when Gilbert had stopped loving him, or if he had ever really loved him at all.

…

Ludwig had never particularly liked the Robinsons’ Christmas party; at least not since he’d turned old enough to serve himself at the bar without getting a scolding from the hostess. His parents dragged him out to their friends’ large country home for the event every year without fail, however. Normally he was able to get through the evening by consuming large amounts of eggnog and wassail that made chatting with friends of acquaintances and coworkers of relatives of friends of his parents moderately tolerable.

Occasionally an old familiar face from grade school would show itself, and that was undoubtedly the worst, whether former classmate or teacher. They always wanted to know how he was doing, what he was doing, and Ludwig had to feign an acceptable amount of interest in knowing the same about them. In short, it was miserable.

This year, however, he was dreading it more than ever, on account of the return of his long-missed brother to the mix. In the best case scenario, everyone would be so busy assailing his brother with five years’ worth of questions that he could remain in a corner, unnoticed. That might even be somewhat amusing: a good vantage point from which to observe the behaviors of the middle-aged bourgeois in their natural habitat at varying degrees of intoxication.

In the worst case scenario—or at least a bad scenario, for Ludwig was sure he wasn’t even capable of imagining the worst possible—he would be trapped by the mobs and forced into answering questions about his brother, now that everyone would be reminded of his existence. Maybe even asked to sing Christmas carols with him, like they had back in the day.

Once they’d arrived Ludwig was actually hopeful that the former scenario would work out. He’d only had to suffer through a few comments about how nice it must be that Gilbert was with them for the holidays before he managed to get himself a large glass of wine and find his way to one of the armchairs in the corner of the family room. This room had the benefit of being kept fairly dim, so as to better show off the sparkling lights of the Christmas tree towering in the opposite corner.

Once he’d finished his wine he figured he was sufficiently loosened up to get the requisite socializing over with. He made his way to the dining room, where the long table was spread with all sorts of exotic hors d’oeuvres he only knew half the names of. He started picking his way around the table, plate in hand, exchanging brief pleasantries with the acquaintances he bumped into. His circuit completed (in the crowded room it took at least twenty minutes), he made his way back to the bar in the living room for a cup of wassail. There he was snagged by a friend of his father’s who had heard he studied history and was an “amateur historian” himself. The man kept Ludwig for fifteen minutes; Ludwig tried to bore him by getting as technical as possible on the details of the Paulskirchenverfassung to no avail; the man simply nodded his balding head and smiled until finally his wife called him away, upon which he was overly apologetic and asked Ludwig for his email address so he could send him his notes. Ludwig made up some bullshit answer about doctoral research confidentiality and quickly made his getaway, wassail in hand.

He had just cleared the last bit of brie from his plate when one of the figures coming and going through the room walked right up to him. Ludwig eyed the shoes of the person invading his personal space and felt an unpleasant jolt of recognition.

He glanced up at his brother with a grimace.

“Hey,” said Gilbert, looking and sounding surprisingly hesitant, “this seat taken?” He gestured to the piano bench inconveniently positioned next to the armchair.

Ludwig looked at the obviously unoccupied seat. “Apparently not,” he deadpanned.

“Thanks,” murmured Gilbert, before hastily seating himself.

They sat still and tense for a moment, eyes on the crowd milling through the room, commenting on the “charming decorations” and laughing in voices already amplified in volume and obnoxiousness from the alcohol.

Gilbert took a long swig of his eggnog. Ludwig followed suit with his wassail.

“Man,” started Gilbert with a nervous laugh, “you come back to a party like this after five years and everyone acts like you’ve come back from the dead. I think my ribs were nearly crushed by Mrs. Robinson. That woman is a lot stronger than she looks.”

Ludwig grunted.

Gilbert seemed to get that Ludwig wasn’t inclined to comment on other people’s overjoyed reactions to his return and quickly changed the topic.

“Hey, you remember when we used to dare each other to see who could sneak more cups of eggnog?” Gilbert grinned, holding up his cup. “Man, it was worth it, even the time Mom grounded me for getting you tipsy. I still swear it’s the best damn eggnog in the world.”

Ludwig frowned, struggling with the urge to make an unpleasant comment that would get his brother to leave.

Instead, he settled for, “It is very good eggnog.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Wassail.”

“Oh, right, huh. Y’know, it’s funny, I never really thought of wassail as a real drink.”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, of course it’s a real drink.”

“Well yeah, but like, from the Middle Ages. I didn’t think people still drank it. Like, this party is the only time I’ve ever heard of wassail being served. Right? It was just something from a Christmas carol. Remember? We used to used to sing it here when Mr. Robinson would rope us into carols.”

“For God’s sake, keep your voice down, I don’t want him to remember and make us sing again.”

Ludwig hadn’t meant to be funny, but Gilbert laughed. “You never did really like being put on the spot, did you? But you were the best goddamn baritone at the party, seriously. So you mean they haven’t made you sing since last time I was here?”

Ludwig stiffened. “No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Pshh, I bet you’ll sing by the end of the night.”

“Will not,” muttered Ludwig, gulping some more of his sweet drink. Why was Gilbert being so friendly?

They fell silent again. Ludwig hoped his brother would get bored and move on to someone else. But after a few minutes he still showed no sign of leaving, and Ludwig really did not want to give up his coveted corner seat.

He cleared his throat. “So, why aren’t you out there socializing?” he asked, nodding towards the clumps of people scattered across the spacious room. “I thought you’d be the talk of the party after your absence.”

“I am. So I’m hiding.”

Ludwig snorted. “Picked sort of a poor spot, didn’t you? I hate to tell you but you’re in plain sight.”

“Yeah well, not as much chance of brushing elbows with everyone and their neighbor over here and getting caught up in half-hour conversations with Mrs. Don’t-remember-your-name about the past five years of my career as a struggling artist and answering questions about when I’m getting engaged to the girlfriend my mother won’t stop raving about. See, most people don’t really care enough to cross that empty space of floor just to talk to me.” He gestured to the generous gap between them and the nearest group of social party-goers. “That void is my force field, until people start trickling in and occupying the rest of these armchairs. But by my calculation, we have a while yet.”

“We?” Ludwig questioned.

Gilbert glanced at him. “…Yeah. I figured you’d probably want to move too, once they start encroaching on your space.”

“…Mm.” Ludwig couldn’t say his brother was wrong.

After another couple minutes of silence they’d both drained their cups. Gilbert stood, and Ludwig breathed an inward sigh of relief.

“I’m going to get more eggnog. You want some while I’m up?”

And immediately Ludwig tensed again. Well, if his brother was coming back whether Ludwig wanted eggnog or not, he might as well take advantage of the offer so he wouldn’t have to give up his seat. “Uh, sure, thanks.”

Gilbert wove his way through the crowd and into the next room.

He’d barely disappeared when Ludwig noticed a woman with graying hair and glasses that magnified her eyes to insect-like proportions shuffling over to his corner. Ludwig quickly became very interested in his shoes, hoping to appear as hostile to company as possible.

“Ludwig Beilschmidt, is that you?”

Ludwig winced and looked up. The woman was right before him, her smile and inquisitive gaze far too intense for comfort.

Ludwig blinked. Did he know this woman?

“Uh… yes?”

The woman laughed a full-bodied cackle that shook her thin frame. “Bless my soul, you don’t remember me do you? Don’t worry about that dear—I’m Mrs. O’Connel, I used to teach art at the high school…?” She grinned expectantly.

Ludwig wracked his brain. “Uh… oh! Mrs. O’Connel, right, how could I forget?” Actually the 9th grade drawing class Ludwig had taken with her had been quite forgettable—he’d signed up for it only because that was what Gilbert had done—but he didn’t say that. He was somewhat surprised he hadn’t remembered her oversized, colorful jewelry, though.

Mrs. O’Connel took a seat on the bench Gilbert had previously occupied with a laugh that showed off gleaming horse-teeth. “There, I knew you’d remember! I hope you don’t mind—a handsome young man like you shouldn’t sit alone on a night like this!”

Ludwig had the urge to retort that he hadn’t been sitting alone, but on second thought wasn’t sure Gilbert was really a better alternative. So he gave a forced smile instead.

Dreading the questions he knew would follow and feeling far too weary to give another watered-down explanation of the research he’d been busy with for the past couple years, he decided to be preemptive. He wasn’t usually one to ask questions, as it only prolonged conversations he had little interest in. But Mrs. O’Connel didn’t seem to want to leave her bench any time soon anyway. Maybe he could get her to do most of the talking.

“So… you said ‘used to teach’ at the high school? Are you retired now?”

“Oh well—” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and brought her hand to her bosom dramatically. “I didn’t have much choice once Esmeralda got sick.” She pierced him with a telling stare.

Ludwig blinked, growing uncomfortable. This was taking a turn for the tragic and personal far too quickly for his liking. “Uh—I’m so sorry to hear that,” he ventured, wondering if he was somehow supposed to know who Esmeralda was.

“Oh so was I, you can believe me. To give up teaching, my life-long passion, so that I could take care of her, spend time with her—because of course I wanted to enjoy every last moment, and make sure she enjoyed it too—I had no idea how long she might have. You can just imagine the awful stress—every day, not knowing if when I woke up I would find a cold body lying in her bed—it was a terrible strain on me, just terrible.”

Ludwig’s eyes widened in alarm. Maybe Esmeralda was Mrs. O’Connel’s mother? Or God, even a sister or daughter?

“I suppose I should be thankful that when she passed, it was peacefully, in her sleep. She’d lived a good long life.”

_Ok, so mother, most likely._

“Nineteen years,” she added wistfully.

_Wait, what?_

“I see you look surprised, but when properly cared for felines can live much longer than the average house cat.”

 _A… cat._ “…Oh. I see.”

“Of course Mr. Fluffles was inconsolable. He mewed all night long every night for a week after. Sometimes I’d join him… you know, mourning alone isn’t good for the soul.”

“…Right.”

“But Esmeralda is always with me now. At least there’s that.”

Ludwig nodded distractedly. “Of course… Is she, in the garden?” He tried to sound sympathetic.

“Oh no, I don’t believe in burying the dead. It traps the soul—how will it ever escape the earthly confines of a body?”

“Ah, so… you cremated her?” asked Ludwig, bewildered. He supposed though, some people did go to extraordinary lengths for their pets. It sounded like the cats were Mrs. O’Connel’s only companions, so perhaps he shouldn’t judge too harshly.

“Yes, of course. I made a pyre in the back yard. I collected her ashes myself, so that I could imbibe them.”

Ludwig stared blankly. Surely she didn’t mean… “You… ate… Esmeralda’s ashes?”

Mrs. O’Connel laughed again, wrinkling her nose and showing her teeth. “Oh heavens no, have you ever tried to eat ash? Tastes horrible! I learned that lesson long ago. No no, I smoked them.”

“Smoked… the ashes…?”

“Yes! It’s really not that bad, and a true spiritual experience. To consume the essence of a loved one, to take them into you, so they will be part of you forever…”

Ludwig thought he might be sick. That seemed about one small step away from cannibalism. He was beginning to think his former art teacher had smoked something else before coming to the party.

A sharp “Ahem,” made him glance up.

Gilbert was standing there with two full cups of eggnog, casting a quizzical look at Mrs. O’Connel. “Uh, Lud, here’s your drink. Why don’t I, uh, show you that thing now, you know, that I told you about…”

Ludwig frowned in confusion as he accepted the cup, and Gilbert gave him a meaningful look.

“Oh right! That… thing, yes, that would be great. You’ll have to excuse me, Mrs. O’Connel, I have to—go with my brother now,” he said hastily, rising from his seat. “Uh, sorry about Esmeralda.”

But Mrs. O’Connel wasn’t paying him any attention any more. “ _Gilbert_ Beilshmidt? Well, I’ll be darned!”

Gilbert looked mildly horrorstruck. “Ah, yes, right! Mrs. O’Connel, you’re looking… really well! Let’s catch up later, alright? Great to see you!” he called over his shoulder as he turned to go, Ludwig right behind.

“Who’s Esmeralda?” muttered Gilbert when they were safely out of sight in the entryway.

“Uh, her cat. Who died. And whom she apparently smoked the ashes of. For spiritual… connection.” Ludwig was still too shell-shocked to mind sharing this traumatic information with his brother.

“...I always knew she was weird. Had her for advanced drawing in 10th grade. She was always telling us stories about her fucking cats. Come to think of it, I bet Esmeralda was one of them.”

They both sipped their eggnog, quietly contemplating the imbibing of dead animal ash through the lungs.

Ludwig glanced at his brother, standing casually with his drink, a surprisingly comfortable curve to his spine as he relaxed in effortless contrapposto. Just then, making their getaway from Mrs. O’Connel, it had seemed for one fleeting moment like old times. Conspiring, silently communicating, creating their own adventures and looking out for each other.

Gilbert’s violet eyes wandered to his and Ludwig quickly dropped his gaze to the floor. He cleared his throat. “Um, thanks. For… saving me from the crazy cat lady.”

Gilbert shrugged. “’Course. Whaddya say we go do a bit of exploring before anyone else catches us in conversation of deceased pets?”

“…Exploring?” Ludwig shifted uncertainly. Just because his brother had done him one good turn didn’t mean he trusted him. And yet… disappearing into some unoccupied corner of the house was a sure-fire way of escaping the unwanted attentions of former teachers and acquaintances.

“Yeah, c’mon! Just like back in the day. Remember how huge this place seemed when we were little? Well, it’s still huge, but. I swear I remember one year getting lost in the upstairs hallways and crying until Mrs. Robinson finally found me. And there was that time you got scared shitless searching for me in hide-and-go-seek.”

“Now that was just mean,” Ludwig accused, trying not to let the smile twitching at the corners of his lips show too much. “You didn’t come out, even when I told you it wasn’t funny any more—I was six and the natural conclusion was that the monsters had gotten you.”

Gilbert snorted. “Yeah. C’mon, let’s go!”

He darted up the first couple of steps and looked back at his brother with a mischievous gleam in his eye that promised all sorts of adventure. Ludwig was reminded with startling clarity why he had always followed Gilbert when he was younger. His brother was incorrigible, but carried such magnetic charm it was impossible to deny him when he turned it on.

Ludwig bit his lip, allowed doubts to cloud his mind for just a moment, and then pushed them all away to follow his brother and his Cheshire grin up the stairs.

Gilbert paused at the top, looking in either direction. “Hmm, which way to the attic, do ya think?”

“The attic? I don’t remember.”

“Nose says… this way!” Gilbert marched decidedly down the hallway to the right.

Ludwig followed, glancing nervously behind to see if anyone was watching.

The upstairs wasn’t really as large as it had been in his childhood imagination; after nosing around a few corners they found the narrow doorway near the back of the house that led to the steep spiral stairs rather than yet another linens closet.

Gilbert grinned as he flicked the light switch. “Remember when we found this? I convinced you they were the stairs to Narnia.”

“You did not convince me,” insisted Ludwig, a little too earnestly. He’d finished the eggnog already—God it went down easy—and was starting to feel the effects of the strong mix, not to mention his two previous generous helpings of wine and wassail. “I was and still am perfectly aware of the fact that Narnia is through a wardrobe, not up a case of stairs. Staircase, I mean.”

Gilbert raised a cheeky eyebrow. “Oh, but there are many different entrances to Narnia, little brother.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes, but followed Gilbert as he started up the steps. Ludwig had some difficulty with the tightly winding things, though he was sure that would still be the case even if he were completely sober. Honestly, who thought it was a good idea to cram stairwells into hardly more than four square feet of space?

“Behold, Narnia!” proclaimed Gilbert upon stepping over the threshold into the room with the slanted roof. He gazed upon the stacks of dusty boxes, dimly lit by the lone exposed light bulb in the stairwell, as if it were his personal kingdom.

Ludwig glanced around dubiously. “Looks like they haven’t cleaned Narnia since last time we were here.”

“Well, the dust just adds to the charm. It’s _fairy_ dust.” Gilbert blew on the top of the nearest crate. A cloud of dust billowed up, catching the lone ray of light streaming in the door and glimmering magically for a moment, before Gilbert sneezed abruptly and ruined the effect.

Ludwig tsked. “Nicely done. Please don’t try that again; you’re not the only one who’s allergic.”

Gilbert rubbed his nose, a disgruntled look on his face. He looked around again at the miscellaneous collection of items. It wasn’t the exciting kind of collection attics in movies always had, but rather the more mundane, everything’s-covered-in-a-sheet-or-wrapped-in-tape kind of collection.

He sighed. “Well, Narnia’s gotten sort of boring.”

Ludwig hummed. “I guess you stopped believing. Like… oh, what was her face.”

Gilbert laughed. “Oh, good old What-was-her-face, how could I forget? I think you mean Susan. And she didn’t exactly stop believing, she just discovered boys and sex and I guess that makes one fall out of grace with the big lion upstairs. Hmm, come to think of it I guess that must put me on the naughty list too. Alas, the gates of Narnia are shut,” he sighed dramatically, resting his elbows on another box.

Ludwig wasn’t yet so tipsy that he was completely comfortable with his brother mentioning sex. Especially implying that said sex was with boys. He was suddenly quite too aware that he and Gilbert were very alone and secluded in a way they hadn’t been since… well, for five years, he supposed.

He shifted uncomfortably, beginning to think there may have been safety in numbers downstairs, when Gilbert perked up.

“I know! Let’s play hide-and-go-seek!”

Ludwig fixed his brother with the best _are you serious_ look he could muster.

Gilbert could read his face even in the relative darkness. “I’m _totally_ serious! Come on, no one’s around—anything below second floor is out of bounds! And the master bedroom-bathroom.”

“Then you have to make Sarah’s room out of bounds too,” Ludwig found himself saying before he was aware he’d tacitly agreed to the plan. “She may not live here anymore, but it’s still a personal bedroom.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Hardly. But whatever. Okay, I’m hiding first! Go to the top of the stairs and count to thirty!”

Ludwig pouted, and for a moment he forgot himself. “You always get to hide first.”

Gilbert caught his eyes with an inquisitive, guarded gaze, and Ludwig realized too late what he’d said.

 _You always get to hide first._ As if they had played hide and seek yesterday, had been playing it all their lives without that gaping five-year hole between Then and Now.

Quickly, he averted his eyes. “…Right, um, I’ll go count. But I’m not calling out ‘ready or not here I come,’” he warned, and shuffled quickly to the stairwell before any more unpleasant awkwardness could arise.

There weren’t honestly many places Gilbert could hide, Ludwig realized when he started his search a few minutes later. He looked under the bed and in the closet of one of the guest rooms, then in each and every hallway closet, until the only viable option left was the attic. He supposed he should have started there, but he didn’t particularly relish the thought of picking through dust and cobwebs in the dark if he couldn’t find a light switch.

Just when he’d resigned himself to making his way back to the narrow winding stair, he heard a commotion from the bathroom near the top of the stairs.

It sounded like a woman shrieking in surprise, and then Gilbert’s loud yet indistinct voice, apparently apologizing. Ludwig snuck around the corner towards the door to hear better. He had checked that bathroom earlier—how had he not caught Gilbert then?

“—hide and seek with my brother…” Gilbert was explaining gingerly.

The woman laughed good-naturedly. “Well, lucky thing I was only coming in to check my makeup!”

Gilbert chuckled nervously. “Yes, lucky…”

“I daresay you could’ve stayed behind that shower curtain and I would’ve been the none the wiser!” The woman paused. “Did you say your brother?”

“Ah, yes, Ludwig.”

“Oh Beilschmidt, of course! And you’re Gilbert—goodness it has been an age hasn’t it! And just to think, you boys still up to your mischief. Well, I have to say it’s nice to see that you and your brother are tight as ever.”

There was a pregnant pause. Ludwig wished he could have seen his face.

“…Well, I’ll get out of your way, then! Sorry again for scaring you,” said Gilbert hastily.

Ludwig saw the door swing open and retreated hurriedly around the corner.

Soon Gilbert rounded the corner as well and caught sight of him. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I, uh, got found out. Let’s say bathrooms are out of limits too, hm?”

Ludwig tried to pretend he was clueless to the situation. “What? Oh, okay, sure.”

Gilbert rubbed his face and grimaced. “Think I need another drink. You want one?”

“Oh, no tha—”

“I’ll get you an eggnog!” Gilbert headed back towards the stairs, but glanced back. “Oh start thinkin’ about a good hidin’ spot, you’re next!” He grinned cheekily.

Ludwig leaned against the wall and waited for his brother to return. He thought of the words the woman in the bathroom had uttered. He supposed it was natural, to assume two grown brothers were close, if they were playing hide and seek like children at an adult party. Actually, he was surprised they hadn’t gotten a scolding. He supposed he had Gilbert’s charm to thank for that.

But what were they doing. When he stopped to consider the situation fully, it was almost a Camusian level of absurd. Playing hide-and-go-seek with his brother/ex-lover who he was not exactly on friendly terms with. At a Christmas party at which the guests’ median age was at least twenty years older than them both.

Ludwig didn’t have long to reflect on what this all meant or any symbolism hidden in the situation, as Gilbert soon returned with two drinks in hand. Ludwig found he was suddenly quite thankful for the alcohol—he needed to stop thinking so hard—and chugged his eggnog down.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “Oh come on, you need to savor quality eggnog like this at least a little.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t hold a cup while I’m hiding in cramped places and trying to keep still and quiet.” Ludwig looked at Gilbert expectantly. “So go on, start counting! Surely you can drink and search at the same time.”

Gilbert shrugged and went to the top of the stairs to begin his silent count, and Ludwig padded softly down the hallway towards a closet he’d searched for Gilbert earlier. There was a whole array of shirts and jackets hanging up inside—it seemed to be storage for spring-wear now that heavy winter coats were needed.

Ludwig shut himself in and crammed into the corner as far as he could, behind a long raincoat, and pulled a bag filled with shoes towards him to cover his feet.

As he fell still, listening closely for the sound of Gilbert’s footsteps, he felt his most recent eggnog hit him. It was an odd thing, being drunk and trying to be sneaky at the same time. Mostly, he was paranoid: paranoid that his senses were deceiving him, that his breathing was too loud, that he would fall over. But he was also surprisingly content to just stand there in the darkness, relaxing… until he became paranoid he would fall asleep standing up.

After what could have been five minutes or perhaps twenty, the closet door opened. Ludwig heard Gilbert rustle through some hangers, then walk away. He was almost disappointed; he was starting to feel like he had to pee.

Gilbert came back soon, though, and started pushing hangers aside again.

Then he paused. Ludwig held his breath.

Suddenly he felt something poking his leg. He struggled not to laugh.

And then Gilbert was pushing his way into the closet, reaching out to feel Ludwig’s pants as though he weren’t sure what he had touched. Ludwig did his best to remain still, though he knew it was all over. Gilbert was only a few jackets away.

Gilbert’s hand rested on his thigh. “…Ludwig? Are you back there?”

Ludwig couldn’t help it. He giggled.

Gilbert drew back his hand in surprise, but then he was laughing too. Ludwig stumbled forward, clawing his way out of button-downs and blazers, only to bump straight into his brother.

They fell against the wall of the closet, the tightly packed clothes on the hangers cushioning them.

Ludwig was still laughing as he tried to push himself up, but his legs were all tangled with his brother’s. He slumped against Gilbert in exhausted defeat.

It was sort of cozy against his warm body. Ludwig grinned up at him lazily… only to realize his position a moment later.

He stumbled back, catching hold of the door handle and pulling himself upright. He laughed again, because he wasn’t sure what else to do. He wasn’t even sure if he was capable of much more than laughing after that last eggnog. 

Gilbert laughed too, but his eyes carried an unreadable expression as they gazed at his brother.

The laughing stopped. Ludwig looked down at his feet.

He was saved from having to find words by his father’s voice booming from near the top of the stairs. “Boys, you up here?”

Gilbert found his voice first. “Yeah!”

“Mr. Robinson wants you for carols! Come on down!”

Ludwig glanced at Gilbert and met his eyes for just a moment. Then he called to his father, “Alright, be right there!”

He hesitated before reaching out a hand to help Gilbert up, not that his brother really needed it.

They headed downstairs. Ludwig managed to slip into the bathroom before Mr. Robinson pulled him forcibly into the family room where the piano stood. Once he’d relieved himself he figured there was nothing for it but to join the crowd gathering to sing. At least he was thoroughly tipsy.

Ludwig tried to keep to the back of the group, but Mr. Robinson shoved him to the front, proclaiming what a treat it was to have Ludwig singing with them again. Ludwig only hoped the alcohol would make him neither too bold nor too off-key. At least he didn’t seem to be the drunkest one holding a _Christmas Classics Songbook_.

The tunes were all familiar and thus quite easy to sing, even under the influence. The only thing that threw him off was that his eyes kept wandering back to Gilbert, standing at the other end of the piano. More than once he caught Gilbert looking his way as well, with that same unreadable expression.

Not long after the carols were over the party began to break up, and soon their parents were bidding their farewells and merry Christmases—but not before Ludwig and Gilbert had had a bit more to drink. Gilbert seemed to think Ludwig was bound to drink since he’d won their bet—though it had never officially been a bet, as Ludwig futilely pointed out—and Ludwig had indeed ended up singing before the end of the night. It was easier just to give in, so Ludwig found himself with two more cups of eggnog in hand. Gilbert matched him drink for drink, because according to Gilbert “Brothers don’t let brothers drink alone!”

Their mother tut-tutted at them when they staggered to the door, struggling into their coats, though she herself was no paragon of sobriety. Their father, ever the designated driver, took the inebriated state of his family in stride and led them out to the car.

Gilbert was out like a light on the ride home, though he did get out a grumble of “too much eggnog” before nodding off.

Once they reached home they were all off to their respective bedrooms quickly, each tired and looking forward to the comfort of bed.

Ludwig, however, was just about to crawl under his covers, eager to get out of the cold air, when he had one of the rare moments of lucidity that occasionally strike the very drunk. The thought process was along the lines of _alcohol—dehydration—hangover—bad—need water_.

And so he managed to stumble back downstairs to the kitchen. He fumbled in the cabinet for a cup—plastic, he didn’t want to risk breaking glass in his state—pushed the faucet handle up a bit too forcefully, and got his water, managing to splash only a bit onto his t-shirt.

He was gulping it down when he heard footsteps on the linoleum behind him. He turned to see Gilbert standing a few paces away in his pajamas.

Ludwig wasn’t sure what kind of look he gave his brother, but he supposed he meant it to be questioning.

Gilbert gave a lopsided smile a gestured vaguely. “You… got the same idea, I see,” he said, speech slightly slurred.

Ludwig put his cup down on the counter. His limbs and head felt too heavy. “…Yeah.”

It felt something like gravity, but Ludwig would realize later that one of them—though he couldn’t remember who—must have stepped forward for them to end up face to face as they did. In any case Ludwig was only mildly surprised when Gilbert’s eyes swam right before his own, when he felt his touch on his sides or hips—it didn’t matter, they were all the same, every nerve of his body rolled into one confused ball. The touch was warm, and so easy to melt into.

And then their mouths were together, though Ludwig couldn’t remember the point of contact.

He pulled away, twisting in Gilbert’s arms to lean on the counter as his head spun. “What… was… What are you doing?” he questioned weakly.

Gilbert pulled him into a tight embrace, pressing his hot mouth to the juncture of his jaw. “It’s okay, it’s okay…” he murmured before shifting to find Ludwig’s lips once more.

Ludwig was lost in the broiling sea of his brother’s mouth. Tongue, teeth, lips, slick and warm—they were his world for a few bewildered seconds.

And then he was panting against Gilbert’s cheek, and somehow they had moved, into the breakfast nook, towards the family room.

Ludwig tried to push away again, but his arms were utterly useless. “Gilbert, we can’t…” He knew he had to say that, that it was important somehow, but his mind was too foggy to articulate a reason. It was just—this couldn’t happen. Not between them.

“Shh, shh,” Gilbert was whispering in his ear, hot breath on his neck and God why did warmth and touch and skin have to feel so good.

Tongues sliding together, teeth pulling, legs against the arm of a couch, cushions under his back and weight pressing him down into them, along his whole body. Hands and mouths, hundreds of them, everywhere at once. Whispers of “Ludwig, baby brother, oh God I’ve missed you” in his mouth, at his neck, his chest, his stomach.

Gasps of “Gilbert, oh God, please” from his own lips, fingers locked into flesh—maybe a shoulder maybe a hip—and he could taste the salt on his brother’s skin, his pale sternum and ribs and yes, warmth, yes, smooth soft pale firm, yes, bury himself in that scent, drown in it.

He was drowning. Drowning in limbs and flesh and the frantic beating of a double-heart, the blood pounding through his veins and pleasure singing through every nerve. Shuddering gasping moaning, broken words half-whispered half-cried out, oaths and curses muffled against slippery skin and bitten cushions, until finally, with a quivering, strangled utterance, he gave out and succumbed to darkness.

…

He was much too cramped. One of his arms was trapped beneath him. But between the cushions and the form he was half-draped over there was hardly enough space to even turn around. When had his bed gotten so small.

And crowded.

Ludwig jerked awake. His face was pressed into a pale, bony, and terribly familiar shoulder.

His stomach dropped. The sick heat of panic swept over him as he disentangled his naked body from his brother’s, not caring when Gilbert stirred and gave a confused and pained groan.

He glanced at the glass doors to the back deck. Just starting to get light—their parents were still in bed.

He stood quickly and the room turned under his feet, a woozy reminder of last night’s Bacchanalia. He steadied himself and snatched up the t-shirt and boxers he found discarded on the floor. “Get dressed,” he commanded quietly, emotionlessly, without sparing a glance for Gilbert.

He pulled on his pajamas and left the room, heading back upstairs. Only after he’d closed his door quietly behind him and sat on the creaking mattress did he allow himself to think about what had just happened.

Gilbert and him. Naked. Together. 

Blurred, confused snapshots of last night. Gilbert’s face screwed up in pleasure. Gripping his sweaty shoulders, burying himself in him, deep.

Oh God, he had done that, he had fucked the man he swore he’d never touch again, the one who cheated him whom he wasn’t going to allow to use him ever again after so many years of lies and now after one stupid night a bit too much to drink he’d been seduced by his looks and his touches and each one burned in his skin and he felt like he was going to be sick.

He was startled to feel something wet drip down his cheek, but he didn’t bother to brush it away. Instead, he simply lay down on the bed, gazing at his slowly spinning ceiling.

God. What was he going to do now.

 _Just forget about it. Move on._ That’s what he had to do, wasn’t it?

And yet, something last night had felt so close to bittersweet memories of a time when he could clutch his brother as close and hard as he wanted. Touching him, kissing him, feeling him, every single inch of him—it was poisoned honey. It was bliss and Hell both to be reminded of what he had loved and lost.

Because it was lost, utterly lost, to him. That time could never be again, no matter how hard he willed it. He knew that all too well, from months, years even, spent wallowing in self-pity, the pain so deep and unspeakable some days that it paralysed him.

Knowing that he could never recreate it. That was the worst part. Remembering the laughter and the caresses and knowing he would never be spoken to and touched in that way by that person again, that those moments, those intimate secrets and inside jokes and stolen glances and lovers’ whispers had slipped through his fingers, never to return. Shattered into a million shards and splinters so tiny that even if he spent his entire life trying to put them back together it would never be the same.

Last night couldn’t bring them back. Last night was a lie, just like the night before Gilbert left. It was a cruel taunt, showing him what emptiness all these things held for him now. Touching Gilbert, having him. It was spoiled forever. Hollow promises, hollow words.

Ludwig hugged his pillow to his chest, and wept for lost things.

…

The hangover hit Ludwig when he awoke later in the morning. He must have still been under the effects of the alcohol when he’d gotten up earlier—that would explain why he ended up crying himself back to sleep. He always had been an emotional drunk.

His mother caught him in the hallway after he’d showered and dressed. “Ah, finally managed to get up I see! Now don’t drink any coffee, you know it just makes a hangover worse. Oh, and dear, don’t you think you could put on your Christmas sweater? Everyone else is wearing theirs…”

It was then that he noticed his mother was in her trademark holiday wear, a self-knit sweater covered with large ornaments and poinsettias.

“Oh… uh, I actually… don’t know where it is,” he lied, hoping that would be the end of it.

His mother patted his arm. “Try the bottom drawer of your large dresser.” She beamed and turned to go downstairs.

Ludwig sighed. At least it seemed his parents were none the wiser to last night’s… activities.

Five minutes later he descended the stairs and entered the breakfast nook clad in a red sweater with a ridiculous-looking Rudolph the Reindeer rearing across the front, which his mother had knit for him when he was twelve and had outgrown its predecessor in the line of ugly Christmas sweaters. She’d knit the reindeer to last, though, leaving plenty of room to grow. It was still a little long in the sleeves.

He glanced at his father, sitting at the table sporting his candy-canes-and-nutcrackers pattern, and then turned into the kitchen.

Ludwig caught a brief glimpse of green and a giant demonic-looking elf and immediately averted his eyes. He might have averted his eyes from such horrifying apparel on anyone, but the fact that it was his brother’s sweater made it doubly necessary.

He could feel Gilbert’s eyes on him.

“Ludwig,” called his mother from where she stood at the oven, “why don’t you take a seat? Pastries will be ready in a minute.”

Ludwig obeyed and sat as Gilbert finished setting the table. Ludwig forced himself to stare at his plate.

Their mother did most of the talking over brunch, regaling them all with highlights of the previous night. Ludwig thought it quite unfair that she didn’t seem to be showing any negative symptoms from consuming copious amounts of wine, which left him to suffer alone. Though Gilbert was also quiet. Ludwig hadn’t gotten a good enough glance at him, however, to tell whether he was hungover.

Ludwig moved to the living room after brunch; he didn’t think he could sit anywhere near the family room couch knowing what had transpired on it. He brought a newspaper with him and tried to distract himself with the Op-Eds—his headache had receded enough to read. 

His mother decided that since he hadn’t drunk any coffee he must need some hot cocoa, as if that could make up for the lack of caffeine. But Ludwig thanked her as she set down a steaming mug on the coffee table before him. It was rather good hot chocolate, though his mother had added far too many marshmallows. As he sipped it Ludwig wondered mildly whether she wanted to give him diabetes.

Ludwig had only read through one column, a simplistic interpretation of the Euro crisis, when he noticed someone enter the room out of the corner of his eye. Someone green.

Green had never suited Gilbert.

Ludwig ignored his brother stubbornly, though he knew he was watching him. Finally Gilbert came over to sit on the couch, leaving a good few feet of space between them. But still he didn’t say anything.

After a few painful minutes of sipping his hot chocolate in heavy silence, Ludwig had to glance up. He immediately wished he hadn’t. The expression he caught in Gilbert’s eyes was cautious, yet far too full of fascination.

Ludwig cleared his throat sharply. “What?” he snapped.

“…I just… what…”

Ludwig closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. “Gilbert, if you have something to say, say it.”

In reply, Gilbert simply slid a hand onto Ludwig’s knee.

At which Ludwig promptly jumped up from the couch, swatting his brother’s hand away with the newspaper. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed. There were Christmas carols playing loudly in the family room, but Ludwig didn’t want to take any risks with their parents overhearing.

Gilbert blinked in surprise. “I thought…”

“What? What did you think?” whispered Ludwig fiercely. He glared into his brother’s dumbstruck face, but when no answer was forthcoming, he turned and stormed off to the family room.

Maybe if he just sat in the chair, and didn’t look at the couch…

When Ludwig settled back down with his newspaper, though, he couldn’t concentrate on articles about the Christmas-boost to the economy or mass credit card fraud.

What _had_ Gilbert thought?

Why the look of fascination, why the hand on the leg, why the surprise when Ludwig pushed it away? He could have sworn he even detected… hurt, in his brother’s eyes.

That wasn’t the protocol for morning-afters of drunken one-night-stands.

Especially not with exes.

Ludwig decided some mindless entertainment was what he needed to distract him, so he turned on the TV and lost himself in a two-hour Hallmark holiday special that he could have guessed the plot of from the first five minutes.

When it was finally over he decided it was high time for some coffee, so he pulled himself up and trudged towards the kitchen.

He almost didn’t notice Gilbert sitting at the breakfast table, hunched over his own mug of hot cocoa. He was quiet and still, not even looking through a magazine or doodling in the margins of a newspaper as he was wont to do.

Ludwig hurried on into the kitchen and poured himself a mug of blessedly caffeinated Joe. As he stood sipping the almost-too-hot liquid he risked a glance back at Gilbert over the counter that divided the rooms. Gilbert didn’t seem to notice him, so he watched his brother for a minute.

Gilbert still wasn’t moving, save for occasionally lifting his hot cocoa to his lips to drink. Ludwig couldn’t help but notice the way his pale throat bobbed.

He looked lost in thought, contemplating the wood grain of the table, head bent so Ludwig couldn’t quite read his face. But he seemed drawn in on himself: very alone, and very cold.

Ludwig had the odd feeling that he was looking at a picture, or a scene from a film. From his perspective Gilbert was framed by the kitchen counter and cabinets in a perfect rectangle, sitting with his cocoa in one of the most embarrassing Christmas sweaters to ever see the light of day, with a fire blazing in the fireplace of the family room behind him, next to a twinkling Christmas tree. It was a Christmas card- or holiday special-worthy picture.

And yet there was something wistful about it. It was too sad for a Christmas card. But in an almost… beautiful sort of way.

Another sip. Another bob of the throat.

Ludwig found himself swallowing too.

He shook his head quickly. What the hell was he thinking? Fugly Christmas sweaters and hot cocoa weren’t beautiful. And they certainly weren’t sexy. In fact, they were just about the least sexy things that Ludwig could think of at the moment.

So, all his brother had to do was sit alone at a table drinking a children’s beverage and he would melt for him all over again? _Pathetic. Pathetic!_

He ought to go over there and pummel his stupidly pretty face. What was Gilbert playing at. He had to know Ludwig was watching him. He was probably just trying to confuse him further.

Ludwig took his coffee upstairs, where he figured he’d be safest from Gilbert’s discreet attacks on his sanity, and resolved to get some work done.

…

A couple hours later there was a sharp rap on Ludwig’s door.

“Come in,” he called, figuring it was probably his mother, either asking a favor or bringing him more refreshments whose primary ingredient was sugar.

But once the door opened he felt something cloth and heavy land without warning on his head.

Ludwig made an indignant noise and pulled the offending item off to find it was his coat. He turned from his desk, baffled, to see a humorless Gilbert standing in the doorway.

“Put it on and get your shoes. We’re going to collect firewood.”

Ludwig merely blinked at him.

“…Mom and Dad order their wood. They’re already stocked for the season.”

“Yeah, well, collecting it yourself builds character. So.”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “You know everything in the woods out back is going to be too wet to burn, right?”

“Minor details. Now come on. I expect you at the back door in three.” And with that Gilbert marched off, leaving Ludwig staring dubiously at his doorframe.

Ludwig had always been a sucker for following direct orders though. Authority kink, and Gilbert knew it too. And so, exactly three minutes later, he was stepping out onto the back deck ready for a short trek into the woods.

Not that he had any misconceptions that this was actually about collecting soggy firewood.

Gilbert was already in the back yard. He called, “Come on, before it gets dark!” and beckoned for Ludwig to follow as he headed off towards the line of trees at the edge of their property.

Ludwig trotted to catch up and followed Gilbert through the bare brush. It was unseasonably warm and there had been rain recently, creating an unpleasantly damp atmosphere. The ground underfoot was moist and muddy.

Gilbert didn’t speak as he led his brother further into the woods, and a feeling of trepidation was stirring in Ludwig’s gut. Obviously Gilbert wanted him alone, out of sight and hearing of the house, but Ludwig wasn’t sure he liked that idea at all.

They reached the edge of a fern-covered clearing surrounded by conifers, and Gilbert stopped suddenly. It was a familiar place to them both; they used to come here often to play.

Ludwig waited in silence, save for his own puffing breath.

He was confused when Gilbert simply bent over to pick up a thick rotting stick. And then another, and another.

“…What are you doing?”

“Collecting firewood, remember?”

Ludwig simply stared at his brother, not understanding. “Those… aren’t going to burn.”

“Who says I was going to burn it?”

Ludwig squinted in bemusement. But Gilbert only continued with his task, so Ludwig looked around at the forest floor for more unburnable sticks to collect.

Maybe Gilbert hadn’t brought him here to talk. Maybe he had some strange sort of scheme in mind involving damp wood.

Ludwig was just falling into the contented rhythm that took him when accomplishing mindless chores when at last Gilbert spoke up.

“So, uh.” He cleared his throat and Ludwig turned to face him, tense. “What was… that. Last night, I mean, was it…” He stuttered over a few more incoherent words before giving up and falling silent. He swallowed, gaze directed somewhere near Ludwig’s feet.

Ludwig paused. Finally he sighed, before saying flatly, “It was… what it was,” and bent down to pick up another stick.

“…And what the Hell does that mean? Because, y’know, we seem to have pretty different ideas about what the Hell it even was.”

Ludwig laid another stick on the pile in his arms. “Well I don’t see where the confusion stems from. It’s pretty clear what it was; a drunken one-night-stand mistake.”

Gilbert was silent a moment, before spluttering out, “Is that it? Is that all it was to you?! What—Christ, Ludwing, I don’t—” He ran a hand through his hair, his face tightening with distress. “What is _with_ you? I don’t get it! I thought—Jesus, we were—we were, doing… better. I thought, at the party and all, I thought you… and then… Well, God I know it was… rushed, to say the least, and not exactly the best sex we’ve ever had, but next thing I know, you’re acting like I don’t exist, or like you don’t want me to exist—and I can’t—fucking—dance around this anymore! What the Hell is going on?!”

Ludwig stared at his brother blankly. “You thought… things were… getting better? Between us? What—what in Hell’s name mad you think _anything_ was getting _better?_ ”

Gilbert opened his mouth, then closed it again. “…You… were… talking, to me? And then, we were… I mean, we were having a good time, weren’t we? Like… we used to. It felt like, like it used to—” his voice cracked and he swallowed—“for just, a moment…” He licked his lips, eyes shining wetly.

Ludwig’s gaze turned hard. “Well I have news for you. ‘Used to’ is gone, Gilbert. It doesn’t exist anymore. It was gone the moment you walked out my door and left a—” His voice was trembling and his eyes stung as he choked on the words he’d been waiting five years to hurl in his brother’s face. “—fucking— _three line note_ on my table!” It physically hurt to say it. He clutched the stupid armful of wood to his chest and bent double, trying to force the tears back in.

Gilbert flinched at his words. “But I thought—I thought you wanted—wanted to be, together again…”

“Wanted…” Ludwig repeated, standing upright in a daze. He looked at Gilbert and laughed the laugh of a cynic. He closed his eyes, thinking of all the nights he’d lain in bed wishing more than anything that his brother’s arms were wrapped around him in place of a quilt, all the days he’d spent hours fantasizing what it would be like, how much better it would be, if Gilbert were still with him. Still seeing his smile, hearing his laughter, feeling his warmth. “You… have no idea…”

And suddenly his exhausted laughs turned to sobs. “You have _no_ idea… what I’ve wanted… what I’ve been through…” He held the sticks tighter, unable to stop the tears flowing down his face. “What I’ve been through in the past _five years!_ ” His voice crescendoed to a hoarse shout; he threw the useless wood down for emphasis.

Gilbert stepped back. He looked scared and shocked. “I’m, I’m sorry, Ludwig—”

“You’re _sorry?_ ”

“Yes, I am, I never—”

“You’re _sorry_.” Ludwig’s voice was suddenly dangerously low.

Gilbert swallowed as his brother stepped towards him, but Ludwig hardly even registered his trepidation.

“You left me, without warning, without remorse, without even an apology—left me suddenly after four years, after all the promises you made—” His voice was shaking as it steadily rose and he advanced. “—after everything that we’d shared—and you threw it on ground and smashed it all to pieces, you showed me _exactly_ what I meant to you, just how much you _really_ loved me—left me to wallow in pain for five years wondering what I’d done wrong, why hadn’t I been good enough, why my big brother had thrown me over for some fucking girl I’d never heard of, how four years—hell, our whole lives—together could mean so little to you—why I couldn’t go back, why it couldn’t be the same, why couldn’t I just fucking turn back time and do it over and make you stay this time, why, why WHY?!”

He was screaming, his face red and contorted with rage and hurt. “And _now_ you’re sorry? After five years of domestic bliss with your fucking girlfriend, finally you can spare a single fucking thought for me? That’s fucking convenient, isn’t it, your girlfriend dumps you for the prick you are and suddenly you’re _sorry_. Thought you could just come running back to me, that little brother would still be there, would still love you and worship you, you could always fall back on _incest_ if you couldn’t make it out there, like I’m your fucking safety net! Well guess what?! Little brother learned _better_! He learned his fucking lesson so don’t you _dare_ fucking say you’re sorry to me now!”

He had backed Gilbert up against a tree, and on his last words his hands flew to his brother’s shoulders, gripping him hard and shaking him. Gilbert quailed away, face streaked with tears. “I—I _am_ though—” His voice shuddered with sobs. “Ludwig, just _listen_ to me—”

Ludwig’s fist was connecting with the side of Gilbert’s face before he was aware he was winding up for the punch. Gilbert keeled over sideways onto the muddy ground.

Ludwig’s knuckles smarted in the cool air, but it was nothing compared to the rush of satisfaction surging through his veins. He had needed to punch Gilbert for so long.

Gilbert sat up, clutching his jaw and grimacing in pain and desperation. “Ludwig,” he struggled to speak with the injury, “please, you have to hear me out! I never meant to hurt you like this—”

Ludwig took a step forward, and the fire in his eyes promised another blow. Gilbert cowered back, holding up his hands for mercy. “Wait, just wait! I—I was stupid, I was so fucking stupid and I know that now, I never would have done it like that if I’d just known what it would do to you, I—please, God, I know it doesn’t make anything better and God knows I don’t deserve your forgiveness—but please, just believe me when I say I wanted what was best for you!”

Ludwig stared at him, unimpressed and incredulous. “How the Hell could what you did _possibly_ be good for me?”

Gilbert looked at him pleadingly. “I—I can explain. I’m not saying it’s a good explanation!” he added hurriedly, “Or that it justifies anything that you went through—but, it’s… it’s a reason. And it’s not that I didn’t love you,” he strangled out, eyes shimmering. “I swear to God Lud, I never stopped loving you, I—I still do. Please. Even if you can’t forgive me, even if you never want to speak to me again—I just want you to know that.” He choked on his words and had to hide his face in his hand for a moment as he fought to regain control of his vocal chords.

Ludwig shifted, unsure how to take the sudden contrite display. His bitter cynic wanted to sneer _five years too late_ , but something—perhaps the better man in him—held him back. In spite of himself he wanted to hear what Gilbert could possibly have to say.

Gilbert got shakily to his feet. “I—I had been thinking for a while,” he began, looking ashamedly at the ground. “Just, about…” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. Suddenly he looked so far away, his face so much older and full of regret. His voice was very quiet when he spoke again. “I loved being with you. I did. And I never wanted to give it up, if I was just thinking about myself… but I couldn’t do that. How could I not think of you, think about what was best for you… You’re my little brother. It was my job—still is—to protect you. Even if it’s…” He swallowed. “…from myself.”

His mouth twisted and for a moment Ludwig thought Gilbert would start crying again. But he regained control and continued. “I knew it wouldn’t be right. Not to give you a chance… to, lead a normal life. Be with someone else. It’s not normal, Ludwig, it’s never been normal, what I feel for you.” He looked up at his brother, begging him with his eyes to understand. “I had to give you a chance to be away from me, or I would never be able to—” He bit his lip. “…It, wouldn’t count. I’d feel like, I was… forcing you. Not directly, nothing like that—I know, you seemed so happy too—but, Ludwig… what I did was wrong,” he strained out in a whisper. “I should never have… I was older, you worshipped me, I knew you’d follow me anywhere, into anything, even an inappropriate relationship—and I abused that. It was so terribly unfair to you, to lead you down that path, making you think everything would always be sunshine and roses when something like that could ruin your life! God, didn’t you ever think about—if Mom and Dad found out? If _anyone_ found out? What that would mean for you? I couldn’t do that to you—you’re so smart, and handsome, I just thought—you could find someone else, someone who would be so much better for you, offer you things I never could! Don’t you see? I had to do it, Ludwig, I had to go, I never wanted to but I had to!”

Ludwig had been listening in disbelief, trying to comprehend the utter nonsense his brother was spewing. There was a new anger brewing within him, one born not of betrayal, but of supreme frustration, that this, this drivel was what he’d spent five years in pain for.

Finally, he found his voice. “You thought… God, Gilbert… If what you feel for me isn’t normal, then what I feel for you is even less normal! And you—you hardly started it. We both jumped in headfirst and never looked back, and you know it! You might have kissed me the first time, but God—I wanted it. Maybe I didn’t know I wanted it, before it happened, but—it was exactly what I wanted. What I _needed_. So don’t go telling me about all this bullshit ‘forcing me into it’ or ‘leading me down that path’—we went down it fucking hand in hand! And _of course_ I thought about what it meant! Gilbert, I wasn’t a little kid when it started, and by the time you left—I was twenty! Twenty fucking years old! I knew exactly what it all meant, but it was _worth_ it to me! And I thought it was worth it to you too, that we were in it together, us against the world, whatever may come—and Jesus, if you wanted to—‘give me the chance’ to be with someone other than the love of my life—you could have fucking talked to me about it! Gilbert, I was an adult! _Twenty years old!_ I think I could make my own fucking choices rather than having you make them for me, and clearly choosing the worst fucking possible option! God, Gilbert—”

He’d been exasperated, frustrated until that point, but suddenly the massive injustice of it struck him full force. What he’d suffered for five long years all because of his brother’s bad judgment. He had to struggle to keep his voice moderately under control, to keep the building tears behind the dam. “Why didn’t you just _talk_ to me? How could you not have known, what that would do to me, you have to have known—”

“Ludwig, I had to make you think— It never would have worked! It never would have worked to talk about it! You were too attached to me, it wouldn’t work—I had to make you think I—that I didn’t—” Gilbert swallowed, looking to the heavens as tears brimmed his eyes once more. “—that I didn’t want you anymore. If you knew, how I really felt—you wouldn’t try to move on. You’d just try to convince me to come back and it would be utterly useless, you wouldn’t make a real effort…”

Ludwig dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. “But… why did you stay away then? Why did it take you five fucking _years_ to tell how fucking _stupid_ that was?” he sobbed. “Why couldn’t—why couldn’t it have been one year, or two, or even three—why _five_? Why—” his voice caught and he had to stop.

There was so much that he wanted to say, so many things racing through his mind, trying to comprehend what Gilbert had told him. If he’d only _known_ —Gilbert was right. He wouldn’t have moved on.

But it would have saved him such unspeakable pain. Couldn’t he have spared him even one year of this torture? The initial agony had faded with time, of course, but only to be replaced by hollowness. He had died young. Killed by bitter poison injected in his veins and been reborn an empty shell of a young man, already shriveled and wrung dry of dreams like a ninety-year-old man at death’s door.

That’s what thinking you’ve been living a lie does to a person. What kind of existence was that?

“Ludwig…” Gilbert interrupted his thoughts. “There were so many times I wanted to come back, wanted to write, to call—you have no idea how I wrestled with it, how much I missed you. But every time—I just felt like I was being selfish. I didn’t—I didn’t know much about how you were really doing, either. All I got was from Mom and Dad, and so I heard about grad school and girlfriends and I thought—God, I thought it sounded like you were doing well—so I stayed away. I thought, if I called you up, and explained—maybe you would drop everything and come running back—it’s ridiculous, I know, but, I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk even planting a seed of doubt in your mind. The best way to keep you happy was… I thought, to… let you hate me.”

Ludwig gave a quiet, rueful laugh. “Keep me happy. Well, here you see me, Gilbert. Do I look happy to you? Do I look like I’ve moved on?” he questioned, voice tightening with emotion.

Gilbert swallowed, and he had to cover his face again. He didn’t seem to have the energy to do anything other than stand there helplessly. His shoulders shook. “No,” he finally let out in a mournful whisper. “No, no you’re not happy, you don’t seem happy at all,” he wailed, and finally he broke down. Simply holding his face in his hands as he cried, standing in the middle of the woods.

“And it’s all my fault!” he gasped out. He sobbed his brother’s name. “I j-just, wanted you to be h-happy… Oh God I’m so sorry, what have I done, I—I’m so, fucking s-stupid! I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Ludwig stood watching his brother cry in great, ugly gasps. The anger in him was gone. But in its place was only sadness.

He couldn’t offer Gilbert any comfort. There was none, for either of them. The damage had been done, no matter his brother’s intentions.

Finally Gilbert looked up at him, imploring. “Can you ever forgive me?” he whispered.

Ludwig gazed at the ground. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, truthfully.

“Can’t we—” Gilbert took a halting step toward him. “Can’t we just go back, to how it was? We can make it like old times again, we can just—pick up where we left off, make it like it should have been—”

“Gilbert, you can’t repeat the past,” said Ludwig firmly. “And you can’t change it, either,” he added more softly.

The two brothers stood staring at each other across a space of a few feet that felt like miles, years. Each saw in the other the younger boy, the one they had loved so dearly. But in that boy’s place stood a man, still young but already jaded, tarnished. Their past selves no longer existed, and could not be resurrected.

Ludwig broke eye contact first. “Part of me…” he started hesitantly, “thinks you’re just, saying these things because of the breakup. And, and I don’t exactly blame you,” he hastened to add when Gilbert looked affronted. “You—it must be, very difficult for you, you must… miss her. I mean, you… you were happy with Liz, weren’t you?” He had to ask, even if he didn’t want to hear the answer.

But Gilbert said simply, “No.”

Ludwig frowned. “What?”

Gilbert shrugged. “I never was. Happy. Not really, not like… I was with you. I, I tried, to make it work. I tried, so hard, to love her, like she loved me the first couple years… but, it’s no wonder she found someone else.” He sighed wistfully. “It’s probably for the better. I couldn’t—I couldn’t give her what she deserved. I couldn’t give her all of myself.”

He didn’t give voice to the rest of the thought, but Ludwig knew what it meant. _I couldn’t give her all of myself, because I was still yours._

“So, no,” Gilbert continued. “This isn’t because I broke up with Liz. Well, maybe that’s why it’s _now_ —why I came here and saw you at all, so I guess, in a way it is related. But, Ludwig, you’re not—you’re not my rebound. Liz was my rebound, one that went on way too long.”

Ludwig stared at him, dumbstruck. “…You… you mean to say that you—never loved her?” he breathed.

Gilbert shook his head slowly. “I never did,” he said, with a note of regret.

Ludwig’s head was spinning. It was too much to process; wasn’t this exactly what he’d dreamed of happening so many times? His brother coming back and begging forgiveness, claiming he’d never loved Liz, he only loved Ludwig, and it had all been some terrible mistake?

But that had always been just a far-fetched, self-gratifying fantasy. He’d known it could never be true. Gilbert loved Liz, and he did not love Ludwig, because he had left him so carelessly for her. That was the logical thing to think. That Gilbert had grown tired of a secret incestuous affair, bored with his little brother. But the pain of acknowledging that was too great; sometimes he had to let himself fantasize about an alternate reality where, despite all evidence to the contrary, Gilbert really did still love him and want to be with him. Sometimes those fantasies were the only comfort he had.

But for some reason, the fantasy becoming reality was not bringing any comfort now. He was confused; his head hurt. It wasn’t an easy thing to forget what he’d been telling himself for the last five years in only five minutes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted his eyes, trying to think. If he could just _think_.

Fact number one: _Gilbert loves me._

Fact number two: _Gilbert never loved Liz._

Fact number three: _Gilbert only left because he thought it was best for me. Which is absolutely imbecilic._

Fact number four: _Gilbert… still wants to be with me._

Fact number five: _I love him too. I think. No yes I do but I fucking hate him too, but I love him God help me._

Fact number six: _I still… No. Do I? Want to be with him? Of course. Yes I do, it’s what I’ve wanted for so long, but… can I._

_That’s not a fact. That’s a question. Can I? Can I be with him? Or moreover can we be with each other. Ever. Would it work. Could we stay together, could we manage it, could we keep it secret… would he be loyal. Would he get cold feet and run away again._

_No, wait Ludwig, you’re getting ahead of yourself._

He sighed, and finally glanced up at his brother. “So… what now?”

Gilbert’s face was etched with worry, but a glimmer of hope flashed through his eyes. “We—we make amends. However hard it is, however long it takes. And we can… be together again. If that’s, y’know, what you want…” Gilbert rubbed his neck. He looked positively sick with nervousness.

Ludwig couldn’t seem to get his throat to work. It wouldn’t open, wouldn’t let sound through. He gulped, and forced out one syllable: “I.”

He took a deep breath through his nose and tried again. “…I, do want, to be together,” he strained haltingly. “God, it—I want it more than anything… But I’m, scared. It won’t be like it was.”

Gilbert swallowed and looked down. “No,” he said quietly. “I guess not. But… with time, we can make it… alright. We can be alright together. And, maybe it won’t be the same—I mean, it can be different. Not better, or worse, maybe. And that’s okay, right?”

Ludwig wanted to agree. So badly, he wanted to just say yes and kiss his brother on the lips like he hadn’t in so long—properly, no drunken haze—and accept that it would all be fine. He wanted to trust Gilbert.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“…How do I know… that you won’t, leave. Again.”

Gilbert took a deep breath. “I promise. I know that probably doesn’t mean much to you, but… Look. I always just wanted to do what was best for you. It’s just that, I was fucking stupid back then. And, maybe I’m not the smartest guy on the planet, but I’ve learned a lot of things since then. I’m not gonna make that mistake again, Ludwig. I’m gonna… I’m still gonna take care of you, like I’ve always tried. But now I can take care of you better.”

Ludwig closed his eyes. His brother, taking care of him. The safest, warmest place he had ever known. And now, a chance to return there.

“…Ludwig…”

He opened his eyes. Gilbert was looking at him uncertainly.

“You do… I mean, I know, that I have to earn your trust. I get that, absolutely, you have every right—but. Do you.” He swallowed hard and licked his lips, squinting at Ludwig. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he asked, “You do still love me, right?”

Ludwig just stared at him, and Gilbert panicked.

“Or I mean, not like you used to, I know, I know but, you could—Could you ever? Love me again? I just want— I just want—”

Gilbert tried to form the words, but he couldn’t. Instead he clenched his hands, as if he could physically grasp what he wanted.

Ludwig took in his brother’s desperate, pleading eyes. Trying so hard to reach back into the past. Trying so hard to reach out to him, to take hold of him and never let go.

And really, Ludwig realized, there was no way he could refuse. Gilbert had a pull on him he could never deny. It had started the day he was born and never weakened for a day ever since. Even in their long years or torturous separation, Ludwig could always feel the tug of that string connecting him to his brother. It was why it had been so difficult to live a life apart from him. Denying Gilbert was denying a part of himself. It was as futile as fighting gravity. And suddenly he couldn’t resist it for one more second.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know and I do. I love you. I will never—” he pressed a hand to his face for a moment, “—love anyone, like I love you.”

Gilbert let out a sob that was part laugh. And then another, and another, until he was laughing and crying all at once.

Ludwig watched in a daze, unable yet to fully comprehend what this meant, the implications and possibilities for the rest of his life; he merely had the vague sense that this was a momentous event, that things were going to be different now, and nothing would ever be the same. That somehow, his whole life hinged on this one moment.

Before he realized what was happening, Gilbert had his hands on his shoulders, his face, laughing and crying and holding him.

“Ludwig, Ludwig,” he kept on saying.

And then his arms were around him, and he was sobbing into his neck, and Ludwig found himself hugging him back.

Ludwig looked up at the bare canopy above them, trying to understand how impossible, life-changing things could take place at the most insignificant of spots in the most nondescript of woods.

He knew all too well that this was not going to be easy. That there was no magic wand or emotional embrace that could make everything better. And yet, against all odds, here he was with his brother, his dear beloved brother, the person he had always loved more than anyone or anything, in his arms once more.

And so, just for a few moments, he allowed himself to forget troubles of the past and worries of the future, and simply breathe in Gilbert, feel him, and let himself go in the perfect warmth of his arms.

…

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Ludwig. It was a novelty, to be able to exchange glances with his brother, and remind himself that it was okay to smile. To remind himself that when Gilbert smiled, he meant it. That his brother loved him.

That they were going to be together again.

All these things ran constantly through his mind, but none of it sank in.

He and Gilbert didn’t get any more time alone to talk, either. There were dishes to prepare for Christmas Eve dinner the next day, and a tree to be decorated.

Ludwig almost jumped in surprise when Gilbert gave him a chaste kiss on the lips goodnight. It was brief, but full of promise, so much like the first kiss they’d shared years ago.

Ludwig went to bed feeling lightheaded.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he began to understand just how different things were.

He awoke to Gilbert’s smirking face above him.

“Hey little brother, you overslept.”

Ludwig blinked up at him blearily as the concepts of ‘Gilbert’ and ‘brother’ slowly came into focus. Then he remembered the day before.

“Well, all things considered, I was pretty exhausted,” he groaned out, voice gravelly with sleep.

Gilbert nodded. “Fair enough. Well, you ready to chop vegetables and bake pies all day?”

Ludwig rubbed a hand down his face. He squinted up at his brother, perched on the side of his bed. He was acting so… normal.

And it was nice, Ludwig realized. He knew his brother was putting on a show—when wasn’t he—but he appreciated it. The best way to get back to normal might just be to pretend to be normal. And eventually, it wouldn’t have to be an act anymore.

He rested a hand on his brother’s thigh, simply rubbing his thumb against his jeans.

Gilbert blinked, and his expression changed just a fraction, all senses suddenly alert in interest.

A smile twitched at the corner of Ludwig’s mouth. Gilbert stared at it a moment, then swiftly leaned down to plant a kiss there.

It would have felt nice to let it linger, deepen. But they both knew they weren’t quite to that point yet.

Once again they had hardly any time to themselves, busy as they were working in the kitchen and doing last minute housecleaning in preparation for their guests coming for dinner—friends of their parents, a childless couple.

But he and Gilbert fell surprisingly easily back into old ways. Their silent understanding, responding to each other’s needs on a practically subconscious level. They were perfectly in tune as they went about their tasks. Ludwig realized they hadn’t ever lost that, really—he’d merely been stifling it for the past several days they’d been together.

As he went about his work, Ludwig felt a new lightness in his chest. Hope, that had been extinguished for so long, now rekindled. But more than that, the burden of anger that he had internalized so deeply, finally lifted. Allowing himself to love his brother.

If their parents noticed a shift in their attitudes, they didn’t mention it. But they seemed happier for it as well. And that night when everyone was gathered around the table, the hard work finally done, the conversation and laughter flowed freely. Ludwig found it in himself to be cheery and sociable, without even having to force it. 

Of course it was mostly due to his brother’s laugh. He hadn’t heard Gilbert this carefree in such a long time; his laughter warmed Ludwig at his very core.

That night Ludwig snuck into Gilbert’s room, as he had so many nights in his childhood, and sat on the edge of his bed.

Gilbert propped himself up on his pillows but didn’t say anything, waiting for his brother to break the silence.

Ludwig was facing away from Gilbert, staring into the darkness. Finally he spoke. “You know what I got you for Christmas?”

“Um, no. You’re not supposed to tell people usually, Lud.”

Ludwig snorted lightly. “That was a rhetorical question. And it’s a shit present anyway. So it doesn’t matter if I tell you. It will make the disappointment not as bad tomorrow when you unwrap it.

“Mom suggested I get you a case of beer. But I didn’t want to spend the money on nice beer. I think I also didn’t want to get you a present you’d actually like. I was already going to the wine store to pick up something nice for Mom, so I decided to grab you something there as well. I picked two bottles of the cheapest wine I figured could get away with without Mom scolding me too much. She knows her labels, but I could always claim innocence in the area of wine, say a friend recommended it or something.

“So, there are two bottles of nine dollar wine under the tree for you. And I just wanted to say I’m sorry and I feel pretty shitty about it now.”

There was silence for a moment. And then Gilbert burst out laughing.

Shocked, Ludwig quickly tried to hush him. “You’ll wake up Mom and Dad!” he hissed.

Gilbert covered his mouth and snorted accidentally, which only made him laugh harder.

Finally he regained control of himself. “Lud, did you seriously...” He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Did you seriously come in here just to tell me that?”

Ludwig stiffened slightly. “It was on my mind,” he said defensively.

Gilbert chuckled. “Well, when someone sneaks into my room late at night it kinda puts other things on my mind, if you know what I mean.”

Ludwig felt a light touch on his hip and drew back instantly.

Gilbert froze, and in the dim light Ludwig could just make out the look of surprised hurt on his face.

“Sorry,” said Gilbert quickly, quietly. “I shouldn’t have, assumed.”

Ludwig grimaced. “No, I’m sorry, I just—”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s okay, I understand.”

Ludwig hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. But was it a good idea, so soon? He was both thrilled and terrified by the thought of having his brother again after so long, this time fully aware of his situation and actions. Even more so by the thought of giving himself so completely to Gilbert.

“We don’t wanna rush things,” continued Gilbert, feigning a casual tone. “It was a… pretty stupid idea, I guess. I just thought, maybe it would… be good. You know, um.” He sighed. “Never mind.”

Gilbert lay back down on his pillows, but Ludwig sat caught in indecision. His brother thought he didn’t trust him. Well, Ludwig supposed he was right. Ludwig couldn’t trust Gilbert, not completely, not yet. When Gilbert had touched him, Ludwig had reacted automatically. He wasn’t used to accepting his brother’s advances; it was so long since they’d been physical. But that didn’t mean Ludwig didn’t want Gilbert.

And how long would they keep dancing around each other, edging closer before darting back like nervous rabbits? Ludwig didn’t think he could stand that. Wouldn’t it be so much easier just to take the plunge? Otherwise they might never make it to where they wanted to be.

 _Maybe it would be good_ , Gilbert had said. And maybe he was right. More than that, Ludwig realized, it was what he wanted. Even if he was scared.

If this worked out tonight, it would be a better reassurance than anything that maybe they had a chance together.

Finally Ludwig found his voice. “No, I… I agree. It could be, good.”

Gilbert sat upright again. Ludwig couldn’t make out his eyes in the darkness, but he could feel his intense stare.

“Do you want…?” whispered Gilbert.

Ludwig nodded breathlessly. He did. He did want, so badly.

Immediately Gilbert’s arms were pulling him closer, his lips seeking their partners. He missed and hit his chin, but that was quickly corrected, and their mouths locked with humid intensity.

When they finally broke for air Gilbert brought their foreheads together. “I’ve been without you for so long I don’t want to wait another minute,” he panted against his brother’s lips.

Ludwig clutched him closer. Tasting Gilbert, smelling him, feeling him again at long last and knowing that this was okay, this was how they both wanted it to be—it was intoxicating. The elation of thinking this would be the first night of so many to come.

But mostly, as they remapped each other’s bodies in the darkness of Gilbert’s room, it felt right. The piece of Ludwig that had been missing was sliding back into place, with each tender caress and fevered touch.

They moved in tandem, sometimes slow and reverent like practiced lovers, sometimes impatient and fumbling like inexperienced teenagers. Their heavy breaths and hushed moans hovered on the air before dissolving. Limbs trembled and clenched. Whispered promises and swears fell from one mouth to the other.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. Ludwig lay spent at his brother’s side after it was over, sweat trickling along the creases of his body, contented and glowing. He hadn’t felt so satisfied after sex in years.

Gilbert draped a languid arm over his chest. “Don’t worry about it,” he sighed in exhaustion.

“What?”

“The wine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Uh—alright. You know, I wasn’t really thinking about it just now.”

“Yeah, well. I just… wanted to make sure you know it’s okay.”

“…Okay.”

Gilbert paused, then said quietly, “You’ve already given me something better.”

Ludwig shot him a sidelong glance. “Don’t you dare say Christmas sex.”

Gilbert snorted a little. “No, I wasn’t going to say that. It’s just… I’ve gotten my brother back.”

Ludwig blinked in surprise at how heartfelt the words were, and at how tight his own throat suddenly felt.

He cleared it with a sharp _ahem_. “That is a cringe-inducing level of cheesy, I hope you realize,” he said gruffly, hoping his voice wouldn’t show too much emotion.

But Gilbert saw right through him. “Yeah. And you love it,” he smirked, planting a light kiss on his brother’s lips.

…

Ludwig awoke on Christmas morning in his brother’s arms. Bright sunlight was streaming in through the window, and when Ludwig glanced outside he was astonished to see that overnight the landscape had turned into a white winter wonderland, in defiance of all the forecasts.

Perhaps there was something a little magic in the air, he thought as he settled back down next to Gilbert, who was sleeping peacefully, arms and legs tangled with his little brother’s. Ludwig scoffed at himself for the thought, but he couldn’t help but smile as he looked at his brother. 

And he realized it was true; he couldn’t have cared less about what was waiting for him under the tree. Having Gilbert there beside him was better than any present he could have ever hoped for.

**Author's Note:**

> Since I had a deadline for writing this fic, this isn't necessarily a polished final product. I may come back and revise a bit more. Happy holidays and merry Germancesting!


End file.
